Heaven's Child
by Arudon
Summary: The angel looked down as the fat man continued to beat on the poor boy. The angel's heart split in two, and he decided, NO MORE. Descending from Heaven, the angel goes to Harry Potter and asks if he would be his vessel. Angel-Harry. Slash later on.
1. My First Vessel

**Here's a little story that I had an idea about. Read it and let me know what you think.**

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The angel looked down on Earth from the portal, horrified at what he was witnessing. He was currently watching a very fat man brutally stomping on an innocent child of no more than ten years of age. What was worse, it was quite obvious to the angel that the child was underfed, and starved. The deepest of blue eyes welled up in tears as he watched the man shove the boy back into a cupboard, before locking the door and stomping away.

'I have seen more than enough' the angel thought to himself. Standing, he unfurled his wings and poured some of his grace into the portal. Soon, he was flying from heaven, rapidly descending to the earth below. Spreading his huge, pearly white wings, he swooped down over the city that the humans called London. 'Amazing what these humans can build' thought the angel to himself as he glided across the night sky, unseen by any who passed underneath him.

Soon he was winging his way over the small town of Little Winging, Surrey. He sent out his grace, seeking the signal of the human that he had been watching. 'Where are you, my child?' he thought. Suddenly he heard a resounding 'PING!' as his grace detected the signal. Number 4, Privet Drive. Angling his flight, he made his way through the sky to the source of the agony that was the child. Row after row of identical houses passed by underneath him, and the angel began to fear that he might never find the correct house.

His fears were unfounded, however, as his grace began to heat up the closer he got to the child. Alighting on a rooftop, he sent his grace out once again, just to be sure that he was correct in his targeting. The ping that resulted was instantaneous and was so forceful it almost knocked him off the roof. According to his angel radar, the child was right below him. The angel could practically feel the agony in the child's bones. The child was so powerful, his magic practically blanketing the entire street, yet it was so pure, so light, so _powerful_! It was almost strong enough to match his own grace. Sending out his grace, he allowed it to mingle with the child's magic, feeling it complement and play off his own. He could feel the child beginning to relax in the cupboard below him, his grace providing a comforting blanket for him. The angel had been right. The boy was certainly strong enough to house his grace. 'Finally' he thought.

Flapping his wings, the angel descended through the house to land beside the boy in the cupboard under the stairs. Observing the boy, who had just drifted off to sleep, the angel was captivated by the boy's innocence. Raising a hand, he stroked the child's hair, soothing away the nightmares that the child was experiencing. Suddenly the boy shifted, and, opening his eyes, looked directly at the angel. His eyes widened.

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Harry had been beaten yet again. This time it was for burning the toast for his uncle's dinner. Harry didn't know how he could have burnt it, as he had checked and double checked to make sure that it was fine. His Uncle had probably just had a bad day, and had wanted to have someone to take his anger out on. This time his Uncle had stamped on his face with his boots, and then repeatedly kicked Harry in the abdomen, stomach, chest, back, hell, practically everywhere! Then he had locked Harry in the cupboard with no food for the night. Harry had been curled up in a ball on his cot when he felt a soothing presence touch him. It had felt good, like a warm, soft blanket that a mother might wrap around her child.

Harry had instantly began to feel better, and had grabbed the whatever-it-was and pulled it closer, drawing strength from it. His wounds had began to heal, and he felt a lot better. He had just drifted off to sleep and into the usual nightmares when he felt a hand brush his hair. Opening his eyes and looking up, green eyes had met those of purest blue, and Harry and his visitor both sat absolutely still.

Harry took in the stranger's appearance quickly. It appeared to be a boy about his age (nine) with clear blue eyes and black hair. However, instead of sticking around crazily in every direction like Harry's did, the boy's hair was wavy and smooth, lying flat on his head. The boy appeared to be wrapped in a pure white tunic, and Harry was about to speak when he noticed the pure white wings on the boy's back.

Harry's breath began to quicken, and his eyes widened. He was just about to scream out loud when the presence suddenly returned, washing over him like a warm blanket, soothing away all his fear and concern. Calming down considerably, Harry slowly sat up. The boy was crouched next to him, hunched over because of the cramped space, and there was barely any room for both of them. Meeting those blue eyes once again, Harry asked, "Who are you?"

The angel smiled. He had not been surprised when the boy almost screamed out loud. He could imagine his fear at seeing a strange being by his bedside. The angle had quickly extended his grace to soothe the child, who calmed down a good degree afterwards. "Relax, I will not harm you. I am an angel of the lord," he said calmly.

Harry nodded. The boy had wings, so it made sense. And he could still feel the presence emanating from the angel, and he knew instinctively that he would certainly do anything but harm him. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter." Harry said, extending his hand. The angel nodded. "And I am Isaac. Just Isaac."

As soon as Isaac touched Harry, a ripple passed between the two. Harry's magic grabbed on to Isaac's grace, and vice versa. They seemed to be feeding off of one another, building on each other, complementing the other in every aspect. It was incredible, as Isaac's grace was a great deal larger than a normal angel's.

Harry's eyes widened when he heard the angel's name. "Isaac? You mean, from the bible Isaac? The son of Abraham?"

The angel nodded, a smile still on his face. Just being around the boy was putting him in a good mood! "Yes, exactly. But not quite," he said. At Harry's confused expression, Isaac decided to elaborate. "The scripture got it wrong, see. God's favorite prophet for about fifty years was Abraham. Abraham, and his wife, Sarah. Abraham was already well beyond his prime when I was conceived, and it was not natural act. You see, I was created by god to be the most innocent and perfect of his children. He sent me down to earth to be the perfect son to Abraham. Sarah gave birth to an angel.

"That was my first, and last, vessel. When I died on earth, I was brought back to heaven, and have been there ever since. I am known as the eternal child of heaven, as I am always in the form of one. This also makes me the protector of children. And as a result of being in heaven for so long, without using any of my grace, my power grew stronger than almost any of the other angels. I was only topped by the archangels in terms of strength. But this also had a downside. Because of my purity, innocence, and unique grace, I have never been able to take on another vessel. My feet have not touched the Earth in thousands of years. This is the second time I have ever descended from the domain of my father."

"But why did you come?" Harry asked. "Why would you leave heaven in the first place. It sounds like such a nice place, where people can get along. I hope my parents are there." Harry's thoughts drifted off as he recalled how his parents died in a car crash. "No they didn't!" exclaimed Isaac.

He had been reading the boy's thoughts, simply to keep track of where the boy was going, and stumbled when he read that particular thought. "Your parents didn't die in a car crash! Lilly and James Potter were pronounced saints when they reached heaven, and were given a special spot in heaven's blessed for their selfless sacrifices to save you. They were slain by a fellow wizard, like you, the one they called Voldemort. I watched them when they passed through the gates of heaven, Michael himself praised them for their valor."

Harry was stupefied. "Wizard? What do you mean?" he asked. Isaac shook his head. "I suspected they hadn't told you," he said. "There was a special group of humans that my father created, called the mages. They were designed to balance out the destruction caused by normal humans with creation that their own natural magic gave them. They were god's elite, I guess you could say. They dispersed across the earth, but eventually grew distant from god, forgetting their duties and going into self-imposed exile. They refer to themselves as wizards and witches, but are much different from the demonic witches you might meet. I'll tell you about those later," he said as he saw Harry was about to ask what the difference was.

"Anyway, there was a wizard of particular power named Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was a very bright boy, but had clear darkness in his heart. He hated the world and all its non-magical people, and was thus susceptible to the demonic powers. He was, however, very crafted; and early on in his life, around the age of ten, he managed to trap and consume a very, very powerful demon named…named…" here Isaac stumbled, clearly having trouble saying the name.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "It's nothing." Isaac said too quickly. "I just have some…personal history with this demon is all. Anyway, his name was Valefar, one of the knights of hell. Now, the knights of hell were immensely powerful demons handpicked by Lucifer himself. They were hell's version of an archangel, with enough power to smite lesser angels, and could even sometimes overpower Seraphs. Because of this, they were all wiped out by the archangels in the thirteen hundreds. Well, all but two: Abaddon and Valefar. Well, the archangels didn't know about those two, not until they resurfaced. After the war between the knights of hell and the archangels, Valefar went into hiding, and Abaddon simply disappeared, only to resurface in the late 1950s. After she slaughtered an entire faction of Men of Letters, she once again disappeared without a trace.

Now, Tom Riddle somehow managed to catch and break Valefar, forcing him to serve him and merging with the demon. This gave the boy immense strength, and later he led an uprising against the entire magical world. During that time, he split his soul into many different pieces, thus enabling him to claim the title of immortality. He struck down many of our angels, but the archangels were forbidden to directly interfere, and were thus unable to stop him. That was, until Voldemort, as you call him, heard a prophecy stating that you would be the one to defeat him. He went to your house, and murdered your family. Voldemort gave them opportunities to turn to his side, but your parents proved their righteous nature and refused him. Your mother's last act, coupled with your own magic, saved your life, and forced the curse to rebound, destroying Voldemort's body and Valefar's vessel. However, because of Tom's split soul and his merging with Valefar, he was able to survive in demonic wraith form. We have currently no idea where he is."

"Now, that brings us to you, Harry. That night, you were branded by the darkest wizard of all time with that lightning bolt scar on your forehead, and you were heralded by the wizarding world as the Boy-who-lived, a savior. However, after a debate over your custody arose, you were placed here, in this house, with these people.

"And now here's where I come in, Harry. Like I said before, I am known as the eternal child of heaven, and thus I am naturally drawn to children of this world. I heard your prayers for help, and have been watching you for all the years that you have been here. However, you have never been strong enough to support me, and if I had touched you, or if you had even laid eyes on me, you would have been burned up. My grace is the equivalent of maybe ten to twenty seraphs, which are very high level angels, and thus my very presence can often burn people around me. This is the main reason why I have never taken on another vessel after my time on earth. Thus, I could not help you. Not till now."

Here Isaac shifted, obviously nervous. "Harry James Potter. You are probably the most pure, innocent, and powerful child I have ever met. There is no one else on this earth that I could possibly ask this to." Isaac moved to look Harry straight in the eye, blue sapphires meeting green emeralds. "So, here it is. The first time I have ever said these words. Harry, will you be my vessel?" Isaac asked.

Harry looked confused at the angel. "What does that mean?" he asked.

Sitting back, Isaac sighed and prepared to tell another long story. "Alright, Harry, time to explain a few things. Angels aren't meant to be able to walk around on earth on their own. Our spirits are too powerful, often destroying more than anything else. If I were to appear before anyone but you and use my true voice and take my true form, I would literally fry their eyes out and blow their ears off. So, what we do is something called angelic possession. We take the body of a human and inhabit it, moving about freely without burning anything else up. Once inside the body, we add our grace, our life force, to the body, blessing it with supernatural strength, speed, and reflexes, as well as the ability to see supernatural threats and use our wings. Now, unlike demons, who can just possess anyone without so much as a 'by your leave,' God protected humans from angels when he made us. We have to have permission to enter a human body. Now, most angels would not choose a mage as a vessel, seeing as how their magic might be liable to kick us out, but I have watched you for a very long time, and it's almost as if you were made to hold me. Harry Potter, I ask again: Will you be my vessel?" Isaac started to look very desperate.

Harry considered Isaac's proposal. It would be an awesome experience to have an angel inside of him, and maybe he could stop Uncle Vernon from hurting him. But possession? Harry didn't know about that. "Will I still be able to be in control?" he asked.

Isaac nodded. "If that is your wish, then I will give you back control once I enter. At certain times I will definitely ask if I can take over, such as if there is a threat to you or a supernatural presence nearby. Think about your body as, say, an airplane. An airplane normally has two pilots, a regular pilot and a copilot. We'll both be in the cockpit, but we can switch back and forth for control. Do you understand?" the angel asked.

When Harry gave the confirmatory shake of his head, Isaac smiled. "As you are my true vessel, I will need you to say the following words. Repeat after me: I, the mage Harry James Potter"

"I, the mage Harry James Potter" Harry said.

"Do accept the angel Isaac into my body, soul, and magic," Isaac send, extending his hand to place it on Harry's chest.

"Do accept the angel Isaac into my body, soul, and magic," Harry repeated. As soon as he finished the last word, Isaac began to glow white, and turned into a swirling mist. Flowing forward, the angel's grace completely enveloped Harry, merging completely with his magic and mingling, dancing, playing with it. Isaac's essence merged into Harry's, but thanks to the boys magic, the angel did not take over completely, just as he predicted, but instead moved into another part of his mind. Isaac suddenly caught a glimpse of something that should not be there, and spoke to Harry. '_Harry, why do you have a fragment of a soul lodged in your forehead?_' he asked. Harry was confused by the question. "What are you talking about?" he questioned the angel.

'_At first I couldn't see it, as your magic was covering it up, but it appears you have a soul fragment stuck in you, like shrapnel after an explosion. It's feeding off of your magic like a perverse parasite! Would you like me to expel it?_' Isaac asked. Harry nodded his head. "Definitely. If it's a parasite, then get it out!"

'_Alright, but I'll have to take control of this vessel to do so. I have to use my grace to extract it._' Harry's eyes then flared white for a moment before settling back to a deep, sapphire blue. "Alright, now let's get you out," said the angel, reaching a hand up to his vessel's forehead. As soon as he made contact with the lightning bolt scar, his grace flared, indicating that he had found where the soul had attached to the body. Forming a funnel with his hand, Isaac began to form a vacuum with his grace, pulling the soul out of his vessel's head. Soon, it was completely out, and Isaac was holding a glowing blue sphere with a tiny black dot in the center of it, which was bouncing around wildly. "To divide your soul like this should be impossible. A soul can be beaten, battered, bruised, and turned inside out; but it cannot be torn. How did this…" Isaac suddenly flared his wings as he felt the trace of demonic energy bouncing around in the soul. "Oh, it's you. Valefar!"

Isaac growled, and, making a fist around the soul fragment, squeezed it shut. A tiny scream escaped the soul fragment as it had its life crushed out of it. Grinning with satisfaction, Isaac gave control back to Harry. The vessels eyes flashed white once again before fading to an emerald green. Harry blinked his eyes. "Why can't I see clearly?" he asked.

'_It's because the soul fragment was eating at your magic for so long, it was preventing it from healing your eyes. That and it was trying to repair your body from the harsh treatment your Uncle gave you. Now that I have removed it and inhabited your body, your body is completely healed of all wounds and maladies. Remove your glasses, and see clearly as god meant for you to_.' Nodding, Harry removed his glasses and looked at his hands, now in more detail than he had ever seen before. He let out a childish giggle, before a huge yawn spread across his features.

'_I think all of this has tired you out a great deal. Most vessel's need at least twenty four hours of sleep to allow their bodies to adapt to an angel's presence. Even with your magic backing you up, you'll still need at least four. Go to sleep Harry._' As Isaac said this, he sent a tendril of his grace through the boy, sedating him and sending him into a dreamless, restful sleep similar to a coma. _'I might as well go to sleep also_,' thought Isaac. "Goodnight, Isaac," Harry whispered as he drifted deeper into his slumber. '_Goodnight, Harry_,' Isaac whispered back, folding up his wings.

And so they slept, angel and human, side by side in the same body. Far away, in an unknown location, God smiled. "Well done, Isaac. You found him," God whispered, before turning his back on the pair. The sun began to peak over the horizon, and a new day dawned for both heaven and earth. However, heaven was in an uproar.

"Where is Isaac?" Michael screamed. "Castiel!" he called. The blue-eyed angel scrambled forward. "Yes, Michael?" Castiel asked. "Take some of your garrison to earth and find Isaac. Go _NOW_!" he shouted, his voice echoing across heaven. Nodding his head, Castiel scampered out of the courtroom, heading towards his garrison. "Isaac, what have you done?" he himself asked as he sprinted through heaven. The stage was set, and the hunt would soon begin.

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**Alright, there was the first chapter. Now, if this story gets enough hits, then I will continue it. If not, then I might come back to it at a later date. This will not take priority over my other more advanced story 'A boy named Time,' but I will still work on this when I'm not in the mood for the other story. Rate and Review-** Arudon


	2. Why, Brother?

**Well well well, looks like you guys do like this after all. I think I'll have to devote more time to this one. Anyway, here you go!**

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Harry was awoken by a sharp rapping coming from his door.

"Boy, get up! You skipped breakfast you lazy runt." Vernon's sharp voice rasped, sending Harry into a momentary panic. "Get out now!" he roared. 'Oh no! I've forgot to make the breakfast! Oh, he's going to kill me!' he thought. Harry's thoughts were quickly soothed by Isaac's grace however, and the boy soon relaxed under the angel's administrations. '_Harry, if I may, will you allow to take care of this?_' Isaac asked. Harry nodded, and once again his eyes flashed white before fading to blue. Reaching his hand up, Isaac sent his grace through the door, undoing the latch that was on the outside of the door.

Vernon, who was standing in the hallway, watched in astonishment as the catch released and the door creaked open. Stepping out into the hallway, the boy stood and stretched, seeming to have grown an inch since the last time Vernon had seen him. Overcoming his shock, Vernon's mind quickly pieced together that the Freak had used his Freakishness to unlock the door. His face turned beet red and he started to lumber towards the boy.

"Boy," he growled dangerously. "How dare you use your freakishness in this household. Maybe I'll just have to beat it out of you!" Vernon swung his fist at the boy's head, fully intending to send him reeling to the ground. His face turned staunch white when the boy's hand came up and grabbed a hold of his fist, stopping its motion completely. Vernon tried to tug it out of the boy's hand, but the grip was iron hard.

Vernon winced as his hand was crushed by the boy's grip. Isaac began to twist his hand, bringing Vernon to his knees in front of him in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure that was mounting on his wrist. Beady black eyes looked into cold blue ones, and Vernon began to shake in fear. "Your eyes, their blue, not green. You're not the freak! Who are you?" he asked, his voice beginning to quiver.

His pulse quickened even more when he saw an overlarge knife slide out of the boy's sleeve and into his waiting hand. "It does not matter who I am. Know that I am simply here to punish you for your sins against this child." Isaac snapped his arm up, and with two concise flicks of wrist, he sank his angel blade twice into Vernon's face, making shallow cuts on both cheeks. They weren't lethal blows, not by far, but they still did a number on the human.

"Know that I will not tolerate any more acts of aggression towards my vessel, nor any comments on my 'Freakishness'. Unless, that is, you would like to know how a weapon forged in the holy flames of heaven itself feels when pressed down your throat. Would you like that?" Isaac asked condescendingly, staring into the beady black eyes of his vessel's relative/tormentor. When Vernon shook his head rapidly, Isaac released his fist, and the fat man fell to the floor gasping.

Isaac circled Vernon as he lay whimpering on the floor, handling his angel blade loosely, and looked coldly down on the man. Unseen by the fat whale, his wings flared out behind his back, showing his anger and disgust at the mortal that dared to challenge a soldier of heaven. Stooping down, Isaac grabbed the fat man's face and pulled it up to meet his gaze. "Good. Now, you're going to make my breakfast. My vessel is still young, and as such he cannot survive without sustenance and rest yet. And you are going to refrain from referring to him as 'boy' of 'Freak' in the future, but will instead call him by his name. Am I understood?" he asked venomously, making it very clear what would happen if Vernon refused. The fat man gulped and nodded, before pushing himself up and scrambling into the kitchen.

Isaac's eyes flared white as he handed control back over to Harry, his angel blade disappearing back to its metaphorical holster on another plane of existence. Harry swayed a bit, a little unsettled by the aggressiveness that Isaac had shown. 'Was that entirely necessary Isaac? You didn't have to cut him up, and what was that you used anyway? That had to be the biggest knife I've ever seen!' he said in his mind. Isaac responded to his vessel, sending his grace out to soothe Harry's nausea away.

'_It was completely necessary, Harry. He needed to be taught never to touch you again, and his sins will earn him a special place in hell. But it is not my place to punish the mortals with death. That is for the fates and the reapers to decide. As for the weapon I used, it is a standard issue weapon that all angels have. It is known as an angel blade, and is deadly to almost any kind of supernatural presence. Each one is unique, and reflects the angel that bears it. Mine, however, is just like my grace: a lot stronger than most other angel blades. It can inflict much more serious wounds than a normal blade could, and is topped, once again, only by an archangel blade in terms of power._' Isaac paused, before assuming a more humble voice.

'_I do not mean to brag, as pride is one of the seven deadly sins, but I am most likely the most skilled fighter in all of heaven, and I can even go toe to toe with Michael on occasion. I was taught by Raphael, Gabriel, and even Lucifer!_' he said, pronouncing the last name with a bit of excitement.

Harry was confused. 'So you were trained by the devil?' he asked. 'Isn't he supposed to be, you know, the epitome of evil and all that. Satan?' Isaac assumed an accusatory tone of voice. '_That was after he fell. Before then, he was the most beautiful angel in all of heaven. His voice alone could sing the most heartless monsters into a comforting sleep, and his grace shone like a thousand suns. He was known as the Morningstar for good reason. The only reason he was cast out of heaven was because he refused to love humanity more than he loved our father. He denied god's direct orders, and as punishment was sentenced to the pit._

'_He was the one who made the first demons, the first being Lilith, which was a woman that he twisted to become the first lieutenant of the armies of hell. He created the Knights of Hell. But before then he was an archangel, beautiful and powerful. And that's how I choose to remember him. After the incident with Lucifer, God forbade any more angels from descending to earth except on his orders._' Isaac went silent for a moment.

'Is that why you're here, Isaac? Is that why you left heaven? Because God told you?' Harry asked. He suddenly felt layers of sadness radiating from the angel. '_Yes. And no,_' he said. 'Well, which is it? Yes or no?' Harry asked.

He could feel Isaac shifting inside of him, as if uncomfortable with the topic. '_I left heaven was for several reasons. The most important one was that I could no longer bear to watch you suffer as you were. The second was that Michael has made a mess of heaven in my father's absence._'

'What do you mean, absence?' Harry asked.

Isaac sighed. '_Our father, the Lord Almighty, has vacated heaven. He left Michael in charge and then just disappeared. However, before he left completely, I saw him one last time. He was about to leave heaven, when he saw me looking at him. He said three words to me: _"You Are Free," _and then he stepped out of heaven. I believe that I was the last one who saw him._' Isaac finished.

'_For the longest time I debated on what he meant by being free. For an angel, the concept of freewill is almost non-existent. We are heaven's soldiers, designed, created to follow orders. It is why we are referred to as the heavenly host: we are an army, with different castes and roles that we all play in a battle. However, I finally figured it out. I am a child, Harry. Granted, a five thousand year old child, but still a child. I was never meant to be a soldier, and thus I don't have to follow orders. I can be what other's cannot: a free thinking angel._

'_And so I took the scales of Heaven and went to earth in order to find you. It was the first independent action I have ever taken. It is strange now, being human, and I am learning a lot about how to act on my own. I'm learning from you even now, as we speak._' Isaac shifted closer to Harry in his mind, wrapping around Harry's soul with his grace.

'_I'm alone and scared, Harry. I have left the only life, the only home that I have ever known. But I just couldn't sit there and watch Michael tear the place apart anymore. I learned what they were going to do, and I will have no part in it. I will not help them start the apocalypse._' He shivered again, but then stirred as he felt Harry's magic soothing his grace, just as he himself had done before to Harry. 'You're not alone,' Harry said. 'I am your vessel, and your new family. I will always be here, no matter what. Alright?' he asked. Isaac finally nodded, and Harry smiled. "Alright, I think I can smell the bacon cooking," he said out loud, striding confidently over to the kitchen. "And all this talking has given me an appetite."

Sauntering into the kitchen, he saw his uncle giving him a look so malevolent it made Harry shiver. Then, shoving down his fear, he put a confident smile back on his face and asked loudly, "Would you like to talk to the other one?"

Vernon's eyes bugged out and he snapped his head back to the eggs he was cooking, his heart pounding a mile a minute. Harry sat down at the table, pulling a dish closer and grabbing some silverware. He had no idea where aunt Petunia was, and he guessed that Dudley was out defiling public property with some of his friends, so he had nothing to fear. Not that he would anyway even if they were here, seeing as he now literally had an angel on his shoulder. Well, at least in his body.

Vernon shuffled closer, a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in his hand. He placed it down in front of Harry, keeping as far away from the boy as physically possible, before walking out of the kitchen as fast as his bulk allowed. Harry smirked as he heard the bang of the front door slamming, and the resounding squeal as his car peeled out of the driveway and away from the house.

'I think you made a bad impression with my uncle, Isaac' he thought as he dug into the eggs that were sitting there before him. '_I would hope so_,' responded the angel. '_I would take it as a personal insult if he did not fear my wrath._' The angel of heaven smirked with self-satisfaction, pleased that the mortal man had learned to fear both him and his vessel, and was confident that he would never again raise a hand against the boy. No one touched his vessel. Absolutely bloody no one.

After Harry was finished with his breakfast, he questioned Isaac on what he wanted to do now. '_Well_,' thought Isaac, '_I think we should get out of this house for a little while. Let's go to the park for a bit._'

"Ok" Harry said, as he got up and went to the front door. Opening it, both Harry and Isaac took a moment to bask in the sun's warm rays. Isaac let his wings unfold, spreading out behind his vessel as it soaked up the warmth. Relaxing, both Harry and Isaac let their energies out, and both magic and grace floated about in the morning air, playing with each other and rolling in the other's presence.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Isaac. Why do your grace and my magic do that?" Harry asked the angel, who was still blissfully rolling his wings in the sunlight. '_Do what Harry?_' he asked.

"Roll around like that? It's almost like their two little children wrestling playfully," Harry responded. Isaac nodded and began his explanation. '_Well, you see, that's one of the benefits of inhabiting a mage. Their magic is an extension of their soul, and is natural and pure; unlike a demonic witch, which gains his or her power through trading their soul with a demon. Also, my grace is very childlike, seeing as how I am still a child. I don't think you're ever going to age past fourteen, Harry, not as long as I'm still in your body. As to why they play like that, well…the bond between an angel and his vessel is very close. That goes almost a hundred times more for me, seeing as how you're my first real vessel._'

"What about your first time on earth?" Harry asked, now puzzled by the angel. '_That doesn't count. I was inhabiting a fetus that never grew to have any mind of its own. It sort of died sometime around when I was three years old, leaving just me behind. Thus, you are my first real vessel, Harry. And that's why it feels so good to be together. Your magic and my grace are so similar, that is physically pleasant for both of us when they touch. However, just as I can't access your magic, you can't control my grace. That is the reason behind the separation of our two entities. We can only touch. Unless we were to use the coalition, and you are much too young for that._'

"What's the coalition?" Harry asked, stepping off the front porch and walking down the driveway. '_It is an act that only the strongest and knowledgeable angels can accomplish._' Isaac said as they stepped out onto the street, moving in the direction of the park.

'_It is when an angel inhabiting a human wishes to join completely with the human. Their beings would merge, and the angel's grace would join with the human's soul. They would become one entity. It is, however, almost impossible to pull off, as the grace of an angel is more often than not much stronger than the human's soul, and what often happens is the angel burns up the vessel by accident, completely immolating them with the full force of their heavenly might. And it has never been done before on a mage. In fact, the last time an angel did that was when… was when…._' Isaac sputtered out.

"Was when?" Harry prompted. '_Harry, stop!_' Isaac said suddenly. "Stop what?" asked Harry, worried at the angel's nervous tone. '_Stand still!_' the angel ordered. Harry stopped moving. Looking up and down the quiet street, Harry searched for what could possibly have the angel so worried. '_Harry, I need to take over your body. Will you let me?_' Isaac asked "Sure," Harry said, and his eyes flashed white before settling back to blue.

Spinning about, Isaac flared his wings as he heard the flutter of feathers. Standing before him were two men in tall black suits. Tawny grey wings sprouted from their backs, and in their hands were angel blades. "Isaac" said the one on the left.

The blue eyed angel looked back and forth between the two. "Isaiah, Ishmael, what are you two doing here?" he asked. "And why are you so armed?" he continued, glancing at their blades.

The one on the right, Isaiah, stepped forward. "Michael has demanded your presence. We have been tasked with retrieving you from Earth. Will you return with us to heaven?" he asked.

Isaac's gaze narrowed. "And what did Michael want with me?" he asked, backing away slightly from his brothers. "It is not our place to question our superiors. Perhaps it is possible that you have forgotten this Isaac?" Isaiah said, taking another threatening step forward and fluttering his wings slightly.

"No, brothers, it is you who have forgotten!" Isaac cried, his pure white wings flaring out behind him. "You have forgotten the words of our father! His orders were to cherish this earth and its people, and yet Michael cares little for the humans. He plans to start the apocalypse, which would end countless lives, and he does nothing while the demons ravage the earth! I will not return with you to heaven. Not even if you were to try to drag me there yourself."

Isaiah growled and advanced on the smaller angel, raising his blade. Ishmael's eyes widened, and he grabbed the other angel's arm. "No brother, we were ordered to bring him back to heaven, not kill him!" he said, his brown flecked wings shifting nervously. Isaiah threw off the arm with a shout. "Unhand me! This youngling needs to be taught a lesson in respect. He denies the will of heaven, and does not deserve to hear our pleas. His grace has been sullied by the sins of heresy."

Turning his furious brown eyes back to Isaac, Isaiah spoke again in a low voice. "Last chance, Isaac. Will you return with us to heaven?" he asked.

Isaac's eyes burned with fury, and his angel blade slipped into his hand. "No I will not, Isaiah. You claim that my grace is sullied? Then why is it that it is purer than your own. I have not fallen from grace, for god himself is on my side. The words of the archangel have blinded you, and I see that you are beyond reasoning with. Go back to heaven. Tell Michael I will have no part in his plan." Isaac's eyes grew cold and his grace flared out, lifting his wings into a battle stance.

"HOW DARE YOU PRESUME TO ORDER ME, RUNT!" Isaiah screamed as he lunged forward.

Isaac blocked the clumsy blow with his left arm, knocking the blade from the charging angel's hand. Spinning, Isaiah brought his fist down, angling towards Isaac's temple. Isaac twisted out of the way, and, spinning with perfect balance, plunged his own blade deep into Isaiah's chest. The effect was instantaneous.

Screaming, Isaiah was transformed into a mass of white light as his grace exploded, before falling slowly to the ground, the imprint of his wings burned into the pavement. Isaac backed away from his fallen brother, staring at the body in horror. "Isaac," the other angel called softly, staring at the twisted angel. "Isaac, what have you done?" he asked.

Pushing down his horror and shock, Isaac forced his face to take on a hard countenance. "I did what I had to, Ishmael. Return to heaven, now, or the same fate will befall you!" he said, flicking his angel blade in threat. Ishmael's eyes widened, before his grace flared; and with a flap of his wings, he was gone.

Now alone with his fallen brother, Isaac fell to the ground and crawled over to the body of Isaiah. "Why, brother?" he cried, tears pooling in his eyes as he wrapped himself around the body of his fallen brother. "Why did you make me do it? WHY?!" he screamed, staring at the burned outline of his wings. It was the first time he had ever taken the life of a fellow angel, and he realized that his position had just been broadcasted to every angel in heaven. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he spread his pure white wings behind him and, with a flare of his grace, he too was gone, leaving the body of his comrade laying in the middle of the street.

* * *

Ishmael reappeared in the garrison, panting for breath, before spying Castiel. Sriding over to the other angel, Ishmael stood at attention, awaiting to be adressed. "What is it, Ishmael?" the seraph asked. Then, noticing the absence of his partner, asked softly"Where is Isaiah?"

Ishmael shook his head. "We found Isaac. He has found a human vessel, a child by the looks of it. We tried to convince him to return with us. He adamantly refused, saying he would no longer follow Michael's plans. Isaiah grew angry and attacked Isaac. Isaac killed him in self-defense."

Castiel nodded at the grave news, and was just about to exit the garrison with this news when one of his pure black wings was grabbed from behind. "Castiel," whispered Ishmael, "He spoke of the apocalypse. He said that Michael was planning to start it, and that he needed Isaac's help. Be wary."

Castiel nodded, before exiting the garrison and heading towards the throne room. He would indeed be careful, he thought to himself. Very, very careful.

* * *

**Well, I'll keep writing on this. It's actually a lot more fun than I thought it would be. **

**Anyway, Rate and Review!- **Arudon


	3. The Top of the World

**Alright, here's the next large chunk, crafted with loving care. Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers, you have really helped me do this.**

* * *

Isaac stood up, having landed at his final destination, and glanced around. He was surrounded on every side by mountains, and snow swirled all around him, the icy wind pulling at his loose shirt. He flared his grace a bit, creating a bubble of warmth in which the wind could not enter, before his eyes flashed white as he gave control back to Harry, and vibrant green eyes blinked in the harsh mountain sunlight. "Where are we?" he asked. '_Someplace they will never think to look,'_ answered Isaac. _'That, or they would be too scared to.'_

"And where exactly is that?" Harry asked. '_The ruins of Nym Doch, the ancient fortress of the Knights of Hell. This is where the archangels laid siege to the twelve most powerful demons in the world. Countless demons and angels gave their lives in both the defense and destruction of this place_,' Isaac said.

_'During the battle, their leader, Leraje, raised the fortress high above the sea, in an effort to make it more defensible. As a result, the fortress is now the highest point on earth. Welcome to the peak of Mount Everest, Harry.' _Harry looked around in amazement, for the first time noticing the massive ruins before him. Blown out walls were everywhere, and he could see the imprint of angel wings burned into the rock. Stones were scattered everywhere, and massive statues of demons lay in pieces all across the ground.

"But, humans have reached the top of Mount Everest before, Isaac. How could they not have seen this?" Harry asked in amazement. '_Do you really think a regular human would actually be able to perceive this place? Even you, a vessel of an angel, couldn't see it at first. This place has powerful wards surrounding it, and only an experienced warder, one that is also exceptionally powerful, could get past both the concealment and detection wards and actually enter this place. Luckily for us, I am both._' Harry stared in awe at the ruins of the ancient fortress.

Walking through them, Harry listened to the angel as he explained the history of the place. '_Here was where the angels Sateial and Hathe met their ends. And here was where Gabriel slew the demon Ose, one of the Knights of Hell. He took down thirty angels before the archangel finally managed to slay him. And there's where Michael fought three of the knights of hell at once, one of them being Leraje. He slew all three of them, but not before they wiped out an entire garrison of angels. I think the angel Castiel was the only one to survive. I like Castiel; he's a good, honorable soldier. He's the leader of one of the garrisons of heaven now.' _Harry stopped in front of a massive crater that smelled strongly of sulfur.

_'And here's where Azrael detonated a death bomb,'_ Isaac informed Harry,_ 'taking about fifty demons into death's embrace. He's the angel of death, Harry, and a very good friend of mine up in heaven. He also appears often as a child, but he is unique among the angels._'

"How is he unique?" Harry asked, his interest piqued by the mention of an angel of death. _'His grace is a combination of heaven's holiness and Death's power. Yes, there is an entity named Death, and he is everything that they say he is. Cold, uncaring, and old. Very old. Older than god, some say, but neither can remember which came first._

_'Anyway, Death was locked away, and the reapers were being wrung ragged by all the work they were having to do to collect all the souls of earth. You got to hand it to them, they do one hell of a job. So Death, from his deep underground prison, asked god to make an angel that would have only half his grace filled by heaven. God agreed, and the angel was named Azrael. Death requested the angel's presence when he was only twenty five years old. A toddler in the eyes of angels, as we are nearly immortal._

_'So Death filled the other half of Azrael's grace with the power of death, and so he became the angel of death, capable of smiting any thing and anyone, except archangels, god, and Death. And I don't think he could bring himself to actually kill me.'_ Isaac finished

"Why's that?" Harry asked as he examined an old, defiled column. _'Because of Azrael's half grace, he too only appears as a child. Granted, he can still take vessels like any other angel, but he rarely does so, instead preferring to move quietly among the humans, unseen by all. Because of his childishness, he and I became good friends in heaven. In fact, I guess you could say we were nigh on inseparable. If you saw one of us, odds are the other one wasn't too far away. He was quite the practical joker, Azrael. I miss him. Actually, wait, hold on a second! Harry, may I take over?'_ Isaac asked suddenly, his grace flaring up.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," Harry said, and his eyes flashed white before fading to blue. Isaac stepped forward cautiously, before bending down and touching a spot on the ground. "Azrael," he said quietly, feeling his friend's unique grace signature pulsing beneath his fingertips. "It's fresh. And I can sense more. I can sense the magic of a mage. Which must mean…" Isaac's eyes widened. "He's found a mage as a vessel. Oh, this is far too ironic. He must have known I would come here, and came here to wait for me. Apparently he gave up. Well, this is interesting."

Isaac's thoughts began to wander, and he was drawn back into the memories of his time in heaven.

Flashback:

_Isaac crept around a pillar, keeping a close eye to either side as he stealthily made his way around the lawn. A flutter of wings was the only warning he had before he was tackled from behind and sent sailing, another angel's arms wrapped around his waist. His laughter filled the morning air as he cried out, "Azrael, that's no fair! You can't win a game of angels and demons by using your grace to sneak up on me!"_

_The other angel only laughed as he landed on top of Isaac, his black, midnight wings flaying out to either side of him as they batted down Isaac's own flailing feathery appendages. Placing a hand on either shoulder, Azrael looked down at his captive. "Oh, come on. Like you can actually complain, Mr. I-can-use-my-grace-to-move-faster-than-you! And don't pretend you didn't enjoy that!" he added in mock admonishment, wagging his finger playfully in the other's face. Isaac's smile broke across his face as he stared up into the gray eyes of his friend. "You're right, as usual. Now can you let me up so we can play another round?" Isaac asked._

_Azrael shifted on top of him, but made no move to get up. "Actually," the angel of death said softly. "I quite enjoy the feeling of you beneath me. I think I'll indulge my pleasure for just a bit longer!" Azrael smiled down at his captive evilly, a mischievous glint in his eye. Isaac squirmed. "Come on, Azrael let me up!" he cried plaintively, his huge blue eyes looking up into the gray ones. The two were interrupted by a light laugh that sounded more akin to the tinkling of church bells than a sound made by a living entity. A wash of pure grace swept through the clearing, ruffling the pair's mismatched feathers._

_Looking up, Azrael and Isaac beheld the Morningstar walking into the courtyard, although it was more comical for Isaac because he had to tilt his head back to make out the angel, so he appeared upside-down. This also had the reverse effect of exposing more of his delicious neck to Azrael, who glanced down at it hungrily._

_ Smiling, the archangel leaned against a column. "Oh, young love is so adorable!" he said, his smile never leaving his face. "Of course, I never messed around in my time either. Look at you little runts, you don't even know how to pin each other properly!" Lucifer said. His tone, however, made it clear that he was joking, and was challenging the two on the ground before him._

_Azrael looked down at the angel beneath him, while Isaac looked up, and a short strand of nonverbal communication flashed between them. Springing up, they shot like stones from a slingshot towards the archangel, yelling their battle cries loudly. Lucifer allowed himself to be tackled to the ground by the pair, and together the three of them mock wrestled._

_They eventually tired after a few minutes, and Isaac ended up playing with the Morningstar's golden wing-feathers while Azrael lay behind the archangel, batting at a lock of his glorious hair. Together, the three angels spent a few hours just laying their together, enjoying their company._

_The dream began to fade to black as Isaac heard Harry calling his name._

End Flashback.

'Isaac!' cried Harry yet again. The angel had simply frozen after touching the ground, not even moving a muscle. Finally, the angel stirred, coming out of whatever dreamlike state he had been in. Isaac shook himself again. "Sorry Harry, I was enjoying a particularly fond memory," he said, standing back up and walking to the edge of the ruins. "I did not mean to startle you like that. Forgive me if I frightened you," he said. Spreading his pure white wings, he allowed his grace to pool for a bit before he vanished in a flare of angelic power.

* * *

Michael was furious. Not only was one angel missing, but now two. And they both happened to be the only candidates that Michael could use for his purposes. He paced back and forth across the throne room, positively furious. "Zachariah!" he called, wanting to see his most trusted advisor. With a flutter of wings, the bald seraph arrived, his wings shuffling behind him as he stood before the ruler of heaven.

"You called?" he asked. Michael was certainly not looking his best, and the angel appeared, if it was even possible, stressed. The archangel's three pairs of tawny red wings looked ragged, and even as the seraph watched, a feather fell out, fluttering down to the floor. Michael's face looked pale and stretched, and dark rings were under his eyes. He was pacing back and forth in front of the throne of their father, his gaze cast down on the floor as if he wanted to burn it with his eyesight. Which he very well could, if given the proper motivation.

Michael snapped his gaze up to the seraph. "Zachariah. You said that if I used Isaac's grace I could open up the pit and release Lucifer at half power. How is it, that not one hour after you told me this, that Isaac vanished, along with the scales of heaven?" the archangel asked furiously. Zachariah opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Michael before he had a chance.

"And then, after he disappears, you tell me that I could also use the angel of death, as he is no longer necessary now that Death has been released. And then two hours later he too is discovered to be missing! How is that?!" screamed Michael, rage cutting across his fine features. "How is it, that every explanation leads to you betraying me as the only logical possibility? Have you been lying to me, Zachariah?" the archangel spread his six huge wings, flaring them across the room in a menacing display.

A knock came on the door of the throne room, saving Zachariah from a stuttered explanation and possible smiting. "Enter!" called Michael, reforming his face into one of stern composure. The doors parted, and in walked the angel Castiel, his trench coat flaring out behind him and his regal black wings tucked firmly behind his back. Striding forward, he knelt before the throne of heaven, his blue tie spilling forward and his wings flayed out to either side, indicating his total submission to the ruler of heaven. "Rise," Michael commanded, and Castiel stood straight up, his wings folding back in behind him.

"Report," Michael ordered, obviously not in the mood for pleasantries. Castiel nodded and composed himself, shifting his backwards tie (he never could figure out how they worked) so it sat more comfortably on his neck. "Two of my angels, Isaiah and Ishmael, located and confronted Isaac earlier this morning. When asked to return to heaven, he steadfastly refused. Isaiah grew angry and attacked him. Isaac killed him in an act of self-preservation. It appears that Isaac has found himself a vessel. A child, by all appearances," Castiel continued, relaxing slowly.

"It was a boy of about maybe nine years of age. It appears to be stable, and Ishmael claims that he sensed the magic of a mage coming from the vessel. We do not know the name of the vessel, but we are currently searching for it," Castiel concluded, looking up at the archangel and awaiting further orders. Michael nodded in satisfaction. "Very good Castiel. My condolences on Isaiah, he was a good and honorable brother. We would also like for you to begin searching for another angel: Azrael."

Castiel looked up at the archangel, shock evident on his stunned face. "The angel of death has gone missing?" he asked, his gravelly voice echoing across the hall. "But that doesn't make sense! Why would he abandon his post?" he questioned again, lowering his head in thought, his wings shifting into a classic pondering position. Michael huffed. "It is not your business to wonder why, Castiel. Simply redouble your efforts in locating both angels. I want them found!" he exclaimed, his grace flaring.

Castiel looked up, startled at the archangel's flare of emotion, before nodding and turning to leave. He paused at the door when he heard Michael call out, "Oh, and Castiel? Just a word of warning: be careful who you trust. There are eyes everywhere in heaven." Castiel looked back at the angel, his deep blue eyes searching the archangel, before nodding and exiting the throne room.

He would indeed be careful, he thought. 'Second time I've heard that today, and now my suspicions are confirmed. Something is definitely wrong with the archangel, and I intend to find out what.' With these thoughts in mind, he strode through heaven, his trench coat billowing out behind him. 'No matter what it takes.'

Michael sighed as he eyed the shut door, and with a wave of his hand dismissed Zachariah as well. 'That angel is truly something else,' he thought to himself, the image of the sleek black wings flaying out playing through his mind again and again. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts of the distracting angel from his head. He needed to relax.

So, with a wave of his hand, an orb appeared before him, about the size of his head, and made of purest crystal. With a whispered word in enochian, the orb grew dark with fog, before clearing and showing an image of a teenager, approximately seventeen years of age, walk back to his father's car with an arm wrapped around his younger brother. A smile spread across the archangel's face as he watched his future vessel crack a smile at a joke his brother said, before pushing him into the back of the car.

"Dean Winchester..." Michael said with a sigh, relaxing as he watched the pair interact. "What I wouldn't give to have your life. You don't have to run a host of angels, or worry about the apocalypse. Well, not yet, anyway." Michael chuckled as he continued watching, his red wings spreading out behind him. He had so much in common with the young teen, and it was easy to believe that he was his true vessel.

"Oh, Dean. I wish I didn't have to use you. Under any other circumstances I would love to be your angel, but I'm afraid the only time you're ever going to host me is when you don't want me. But that's my lot in life. I am a good son."

He smiled.

* * *

Ollivander looked up as he heard a flutter of what he could have sworn were wings, before he jumped, seeing a boy standing directly before his desk clutching a paper bag. Deep blue eyes watched him in amusement, and the old wandmaker quickly recovered. His milky white eyes looked the boy up and down. He was obviously too young to be headed to Hogwarts, and his dress indicated that he was accustomed to muggles. If he had not just seen the boy appear of out of thin air, the wandmaker would have actually assumed he was a muggle, and not given him a second glance.

As it was, it appeared that he had a new customer. "Welcome to my shop. What may I do for you, Mr…" he trailed off, asking an unspoken question. The boy smiled, before answering the leading statement. "Isaac," he said. "Isaac Dursley," the angel said, making up an alias on the spot. Ollivander nodded, before getting up and moving around the desk. "Well, I say again, welcome to my shop Mr. Dursley. I am Mr. Ollivander, fine wandmaker and owner of the premises. What may I do for you?" he asked, with a raise of his pale eyebrows.

The boy placed the paper bag on the desk before removing its contents: a small pile of wood, each about a foot long; a small bottle with a clear liquid inside it, and a roll of parchment sealed with a pure white ribbon. "I am here to request a special wand, Mr. Ollivander. I have the materials here that I would like for you to use. Look at the time," he commanded, and the old wandmaker felt a strong compulsion to look at his watch. 12:42, it read. "In exactly two years, on this date, at this time, I will return for my wand. Now, here are the materials I want to be used," he said as he reached out and grabbed the pile of wood.

Untying the bundle, he spread the sticks out. There were about half a dozen of them, all about a foot long each. "This wood is called Palo Santo, and it is a highly prized Spanish wood that is actually pretty rare. I will leave it up to you to decide which would be the best to use for the wand." He set the wood aside and grabbed the scroll and flask of liquid. "This flask has been charmed to refill completely over the course of a week. Inside is holy water. Every seventh day, starting this Sunday, I want you take the wand and douse it in the water, reading from this scroll as you do so. It will not hurt you, but it will dramatically increase the performance of the wand."

Ollivander nodded. "And what would you like for the core? I have dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, and phoenix tail-feather." The old wizard raised one pale eyebrow as he saw the boy before shake his head. "No, no, no, I have my own core for you to use." Reaching behind him, Isaac winced as he pulled one of his long feathers out of his wing.

Ollivander's milky white eyes widened as he saw the boy pluck a long white feather seemingly out of thin air. "It may not be a phoenix feather, but it is very close. Take care that you treat it with respect, and make the selection of wood very carefully, for if it is not pure enough, then the feather will burn the wood up."

The old wizard nodded, but added one more question in. "Who are you really, Mr. Dursley?" he asked, his knowing smile playing across his face. Isaac smiled in return, and he lifted his wings in preparation for takeoff. "You'll find that out in two years, Mr. Ollivander. Do take good care of my wand, sir. Good bye!"

And with a flare of his grace, the angel vanished, leaving a stunned wandmaker staring at the place where he had just stood.

* * *

Two years passed, and during which time Isaac and Harry rarely left the ruins of Nym Doch. Isaac put Harry through a strict training course, designed to build up his muscle and stamina. '_I will not have my vessel being unable to defend himself, Harry. You need to get strong, so no one can ever hurt us again. Understand?'_ Isaac said to Harry as he jogged around the ruins on his fifth lap. "Yeah, yeah, I get you. You know for a heavenly angel you're starting to sound like a broken record!" he said with a mischievous smile. He felt Isaac mentally smack him on the back of the head, eliciting a laugh from the vessel. '_Oh, quiet you,'_ the angel huffed.

Also during this time, Harry's magic went through something of a growth spurt, as he became a lot more adept at manipulating it wandlessly. He questioned Isaac often about this, wondering why he would have to practice this when a wand was being made for them as they spoke. '_And what will you do when you have that wand knocked out of your hand, hmm? You'll be completely defenseless, and I'll have to save your sorry human ass.'_ Isaac replied. Harry rolled his eyes and continued focusing on trying to change the rock into a tree branch using only his mind. After a few hours, he finally succeeded, and flopped down exhausted.

"You know, Isaac, you're running me ragged. Haven't you ever heard of taking a breather?" Harry asked his angel. '_Of course I have. That's what we're doing now. Plus, if you're this good without a wand, imagine what you'll be like _**with**_ a wand! You'll be top of your class, I assure you.'_ Harry nodded, too tired to verbally, or even mentally, acknowledge the angel's sound reasoning.

At the end of their two year period, Harry and Isaac stood together facing out across the snow capped Himalayan Mountains, marveling at their beauty. "We really are at the top of the world, aren't we Isaac?" Harry asked, and he felt the angel nod inside of him. _'It's nothing compared to heaven though. It's times like these when I really miss the place,'_ the angel said sadly.

"Do you want to go back?" Harry asked. Isaac shrugged. _'Sometimes. But then I feel your magic pulsing alongside my grace, and I am reminded of what I am fighting for. This is my home, Harry. You are my home. And I will never abandon you for any of them!'_ Isaac said with finality. Harry nodded, and his eyes flashed white as he handed the controls over to Isaac, before fading back to blue as the angel looked around.

"Alright, we'll be heading back to your aunt and uncle's house first, so we can pick up the letter without tipping off the authorities at Hogwarts that we've ever been gone," Isaac told Harry, before flaring his grace and flapping his wings. The angel was gone, and all around where he had stood the wind blew, and the ruins of Nym Doch grew cold again, sad that their favorite angel had finally left them.

* * *

**Thank you all for your loving support. Now, as for the eye shift between Harry and Isaac. For those of you who want a clearer picture of what it looks like, picture the shift in season 9 between Sam and Ezekiel/Gadrael. Just replace the eyes flashing blue with white, and the eye color change, and you got the shift.**

**Also, the reason I used Palo Santo as the wood for the wand was because in season three it was shown to be the solid equivalent of holy water, immobilizing demons and severely hurting them. It is also a very pure substance. Visit the supernatural wiki if you want to know more about it.**

**As always, Rate and REVIEW!-** Arudon


	4. I'm an Angel

**Sorry about the late update time, I was called away to do some cooking with my Mother. And you know how mother's are. 'Sigh.'**

**Anyway, here's more Isaac and Harry for you.**

* * *

Castiel entered his garrison with a rush, his eyes roving back and forth, looking for one particular angel. Finally spotting him, Castiel called him over. "Alcasan!" he shouted, his voice carrying across the crowded room. All around him, angels stopped whatever they were doing as the white haired angel in question looked up from the wooden dog that he was carving. Seeing Castiel, he stood up and went before the seraph, standing firmly at attention with his wings splayed out in respect. "What is it, Castiel?" he asked.

"I have a job for you," Castiel informed him, as he shifted his black wings so they sat more comfortably on his back. "You are the greatest tracker in all of heaven. For two years, Isaac and Azrael have eluded our capture. I want you to lead a squad of our brothers, and hunt for these fugitives. We had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but you're our last hope of finding them," Castiel said cautiously.

The other angel nodded, and shifted his smoky grey wings in anticipation. "When do I start?" he asked.

"Now," came Castiel's resolute answer. Alcasan smiled. "Okay then. What are we waiting for?" And with that the angel spread his wings, and with a flare of his grace he was soaring over earth, looking for a vessel that could serve him. Castiel shook his head at the soldier's eagerness. He hated having to use such a barbaric means of tracking them, as the Siam Dot, or hunter class of angels, were considered to be the most barbaric of all the angels in the heavenly host.

And Alcasan was the most barbaric of whole class. The Siam Dot were rarely utilized, as they were typically only for hunting down angels that either fell from grace or abandoned their posts. They were made to hunt other angels. And they would not stop until they either found them or were killed themselves.

Castiel turned away from the garrison. What was heaven coming to?

* * *

Vernon Dursley was sitting in front of the telee, watching the evening news, when a strange breeze rushed through the house, bringing to mind the memories that Vernon had tried to suppress from two years ago. It smelled just like it did when Private Drive had been overrun by bobbies and special agents from Scotland Yards.

They had all been asking if anyone had seen anything funny, or odd. This had made the entire Dursley family quake in fear, mortified that someone would find out about the boy they had housed for eight years. The Freak.

Vernon slowly turned his head to the left as he heard a fluttering of wings. His eyes widened as he spied a boy with crazy black hair, blue eyes, and a lightning bolt scar. "So it's you, boy," he said softly, getting up out of his chair. "Thought you could just pop back in here after two years, did ya?" he exclaimed loudly, his hands balling in fury. "You thought you could just commit a murder, not five blocks from our home, and then vanish, only to show up two years later, and think that we would be JUST FINE WITH IT!?"

Spittle flew out of his mouth as Vernon's face filtered through a rainbow of colors, much to the angel's amusement. His eyes flared white before fading back to green, trusting that Harry would know how to act appropriately.

Vernon's roaring was interrupted with a humungous "OOF!" accompanied by a wet 'sploosh,' before finally being topped off by a crash of Vernon tumbling backwards over his armchair.

Isaac applauded Harry mentally. While the whale that was Harry's uncle had been screaming, Harry had stepped forward and launched a perfect kick to his solar plexes, knocking the wind out of him and sending him toppling backwards. The kick had been so powerful that Vernon had actually crushed his armchair, and in his flailing he had knocked the TV off its stand. It lay there broken on the carpet, sparking slightly, the glass of the screen scattered across the room.

Petunia came racing in, only to halt when she saw the boy standing there staring at a groaning lump of meat. "Get up you fat lard!" he growled to his Uncle, who promptly nodded and got up as quick as he could. "You," he said, turning to glare at his aunt. "Clean this up!" he commanded, gesturing to the broken TV and armchair. Petunia looked between the boy and her husband, before gulping and stepping further into the room. Bending down, she began to pick up the pieces of broken glass, mind reeling at the turn of events.

"Now don't worry, my dear UNCLE!" he hissed the last word, practically spitting it out. "I won't be here long. I'm just here to collect the mail which will come tomorrow. As for your treatment of me, well, it remains the same as the precedent I set two years ago. You will not raise your voice or attempt to strike me. If you do, I will smite you, without mercy. Do you understand?" he asked both of them. They nodded their heads meekly, and Harry strode from the room.

As soon as he was in the hallway, he gasped and leaned against the wall, clutching at his chest as his heart pounded. '_Hey, easy there Harry,'_ Isaac said to him. '_Hey, sh-sh-sh, it's ok,_' the angel said softly, sending out his grace to soothe Harry. "I can't keep this up, Isaac." Harry panted, his voice fluttering. "The-the way they looked…at me," he gasped, "like I was a monster. Don't ever ask me to do that again!" he said, pushing himself up off the wall and going up the stairs. Throwing open the door to the smallest bedroom, Harry walked over and flopped down on the bed, emotionally exhausted.

It was the first time he had struck anyone, and the boy was trying to cope with how he had felt. It scared him, really, because it had felt so good! To finally be able to be in control of something. And Harry was frightened, for it was not in his nature to be like that. "What have I become Isaac?" he asked the angel, who was currently soothing him with his grace. Isaac's wings flared as he said one word in Harry's mind. '_Strong.'_

Harry's eyes shot open. "You're right," he whispered, sitting up on his bed and looking out at the moon. "I have become strong."

Harry reveled in his epiphany as he stared up at the starry night sky, the last traces of the sunset sparkling in his eyes, igniting the emerald eyes so they shown with an inner fire. Harry didn't know when he fell asleep, but at some point he did. And once again, after two years, both angel and human slept in the same body, Harry dreaming of the future: the school, the magic, and his wand; while Isaac dreamt of the past: his days with Azrael, the nightmare of Valefar, and the fall of Lucifer. Where they met was the present, and there was only one direction to move: forward.

* * *

It was Isaac that woke Harry up from his slumber. It's really handy to have two people living in the same body, because if one gets too lazy, the other will be there to smack some sense into them. Harry got up and went downstairs, and began making his own breakfast. He wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing, and it was only when Isaac pointed it out did Harry realize that he had actually made breakfast for the entire household.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Old habits die hard, I guess," he said, staring at the four plates of eggs and bacon that he had cooked. _'I'll say. Harry, it scares me whenever I see the extent to which these people brainwashed you. At least you actually learned how to be a decent cook from them, and that's the only good thing I can see.'_

Harry nodded as he sat down to eat his breakfast. The rest of the Dursleys still hadn't gotten up yet, despite it already being 10:00. Isaac was the first when to notice something was off. '_Harry, what do you hear?'_ he asked his vessel. Harry paused in his eating, a slice of bread halfway to his mouth. Listening, he didn't hear anything that would give cause for alarm. "I don't hear anything," Harry said, confused at the angel's rising panic. '_Exactly! You've seen how big both the males in this house are, we should be able to hear their snores from outside, and yet its dead quiet.'_ Isaac said, his wings shifting nervously.

Suddenly, his nose caught a whiff of something that sent shivers through the angel's wings. '_Harry, do you smell sulfur?'_ he asked. Harry's eyes widened, and just as they were flashing white, he was struck from behind with enough force to send him through the living room wall. Harry's white eyes faded to blue as the angel took over.

With a roar, Isaac threw off the debris before turning to face his attacker. He froze in shock. Standing there, dressed in his nightgown, was Harry's uncle. But that wasn't what had the angel so worried, oh no. Vernon's eyes were completely black, and the shadows writhed around his body.

The demon let out a bellow and lunged at the small angel. Isaac was almost crushed by the demon's weight, but, planting his feet beneath him, he heaved with all his angelic might, throwing the fat man across the room. Isaac was just standing up when he was struck again, this time from the other side. Looking towards his new attacker, he saw Harry's cousin, Dudley, standing there with completely black eyes and demonic smoke roiling around him. A ghastly smile split across his features, and the demon lunged forward.

Isaac dodged to the side as the demon careened past him and, using the host's bulk against the inhabiting hell-spawn, threw the meatsuit across the room. Isaac ducked as he felt a blow whistle through the air above him, and he knew that Petunia was also possessed. Jumping away, Isaac backed into a corner of the now destroyed living-area.

Picking themselves up, the two fat demons joined the she-demon on the other side of the room. Panting, Isaac watched as they all got close and smiled at him, like a perverse family portrait. The angel stepped out of the corner and flared his grace, his wings spreading out behind him and casting a silhouette along the wall. Roaring, all three demons charged at once.

Isaac sprang into the air and grabbed the demon inhabiting Aunt Petunia by the back of her neck. Flapping his wings, he sped across the room and, landing with the demon, pressed the palm of his hand against her forehead. She screamed as her eyes and mouth exploded with golden light, and the smell of sulfur increased in the room.

The demon inhabiting Vernon swung his fist, but the angel grabbed it and snapped the arm. The demon howled in pain, and Isaac used the distraction to place his hand onto the demon's forehead. He too exploded into golden light, and slumped to the ground, leaving only Dudley.

Seeing his comrades' dead, the demon decided that it was not worth continuing the fight. Dudley opened his mouth and black smoke exploded, only to be forced back into the body by Isaac's hand. Pressing his palm against the boy's face, Isaac sent his grace through the demon, and it exploded with a scream, leaving the meatsuit to fall dead to the floor.

Everything was quiet then, and the dust began to settle.

Isaac slumped to the ground, panting in exhaustion. He had been completely unprepared for the attack, and he still couldn't quite believe what had just happened. He looked over to Petunia's twisted body, revulsion building in his body, and the angel had to hold his stomach to keep from vomiting. It felt as if the walls were closing in, and Isaac was suddenly wracked by waves of panic. Backing into a corner, he curled into a ball and began to pray to his father for forgiveness and mercy.

Soon, the panic resided, allowing the angel to uncurl and get up. He heard sirens from outside, and realized that the neighbors must have heard the fight and called the police. He stumbled over to the front door, where he spied on the floor a pile of letters. Flopping down on his knees, the angel shifted through them, before finally finding the letter addressed to his vessel. Putting it in his pocket, Isaac spread his wings, flared his grace, and fled the house, just as a policeman burst through the door, his gun drawn.

Looking around, the policeman stopped when he saw the near destroyed living room and three bodies. Fighting back his revulsion, he grabbed his radio and pressed the receiver. "HQ, this is Officer Ryan, come in HQ," he said, his eyes riveted to the bodies. "THIS IS HQ, GO AHEAD RYAN" a female voice said over the radio. "Hey, do you remember the case we had two years ago? You know, the one that looked like an angel?" he asked. "HOW COULD I FORGET?" the woman said sarcastically. "Yeah, well, notify Scotland Yard. We got three of 'em this time," the officer said grimly. "OH, GOD. JUST WHAT I ORDERED!" exclaimed the receiver, and the officer nodded in agreement with the sarcastic sentiment.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, listening to Fawkes' trilling song. He was looking forward to this year, as the by that he had placed in the Dursley's household would be coming to Hogwarts, and Albus could begin moulding him into the savior of the wizarding world.

Suddenly, the headmaster sat up as one of his sensors began flashing red. He got up and walked around his desk, peering at the blinking device. His eyes widened in shock, as he realized that the scanner monitoring Petunia Dursley was reporting that she had just died.

The old wizard's heart began to speed up as Vernon's scanner also began to flash red, indicating that he too had just died. He looked over to the last two scanners, the ones monitoring Harry and Dudley. He watched in horror as the one monitoring Dudley began to flash red as well, and held his breath as he looked towards the final scanner.

However, Harry's monitor continued to whir, indicating that he was still alive. Dumbledore watched if for a full five minutes, before walking ashen faced back over to his desk. Something had just killed the entire Dursley family in under a minute, but had left Harry Potter completely alone. What was going on?

The old wizard gripped his chair, and not even Fawkes' song could calm him down. He stayed that way for the rest of the day, mind whirling in all the scenarios he could think of. 'What just happened?' he thought, before finally his eyes closed and his body relaxed, indicating that he had thought himself to sleep.

* * *

Far away, in the middle of the forest surrounding the small town, a light flashed and a boy appeared. Isaac stumbled as his wings clipped one of the trees, and he almost fell flat on his face. "I'm sorry Harry. Oh god, am I so, so sorry you had to see that!" he cried, leaning against a tree and gasping for breath. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save them. I knew your Uncle deserved to be placed in hell, but I don't think your aunt did and I know your cousin certainly didn't. And none of them deserved to be possessed by demons like they were. Oh god, I'm so sorry Harry." The angel curled into a ball and began to cry.

He perked up when he felt Harry's magic caressing his grace, soothing away Isaac's tears and calming the distraught angel. '_It's okay, Isaac. I forgive you_,' Harry said quietly, his magic rubbing tender spots on Isaac's grace, soothing the quivering angel and calming him down from his frenzy. "You do?" asked the angel, his wings perking up in curiosity. '_Absolutely. You only did what you had to, and I don't blame you for that. It was awful what happened to them, but at least their deaths allowed you to rid the world of three more demons," _Harry said, trying to stay optimistic for the angel's sake. Inside, however, Harry was shivering with fear.

He had never seen the angel show that much aggression before, and it really reminded Harry that what was inhabiting was not just another child, but a five thousand year old soldier of god. Albeit, not a very strict or demanding soldier, but a soldier nevertheless. As an angel, it was Isaac's nature to lash out at any evil, regardless of what form they took. Harry had come to understand and accept that over the two year period that he had lived with the angel. Harry shook himself, and his eyes flashed white, before fading to green as Isaac handed him back control.

Sitting up, Harry dug in his pocket before finally pulling out the Hogwarts letter. "Here," he said, "this ought to cheer us up."

"Dear Mr. Potter. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry read, his voice soothing the quivering angel, while Harry's magic never ceased in stroking the angel's grace. Together, they leaned against the tree, while Harry read the entire letter. When he was done, he read it aloud again, just for the sake of keeping the angel calm. Eventually, Isaac's grace finally perked up, and began to respond to Harry's administrations. '_Oh, you do know how to spoil an angel, don't you Harry?'_ Isaac asked, a mischievous grin spreading across the angel's face as Harry's magic stroked a particularly tender part of the angel's grace.

Harry put the letter in his pocket, and his eyes flashed white before fading to blue. "Well then, I think we'll be off. We have an appointment with Mr. Ollivander to uphold, don't you think?" the angel asked playfully, spreading his wings out in preparation. He let his grace flare for a moment, and with a flap of his wings, he was gone. The forest was silent for a moment, pleased with the blessed air it had just received from the angel's grace.

* * *

Mr. Ollivander was sitting behind his desk, counting down the seconds before the appointment that had been set two years ago was to be met. '40, 39, 38' he thought, while he absentmindedly polished his favorite wand, which just happened to be the one he was about to sell. For two years now he had come to love the wand that he was holding. Its uniqueness had attracted many a customer, but the wand had never deemed any of them worthy to wield it. It was quite a fickle creation, if Ollivander was to be perfectly honest.

He had never had so much fun making a wand in all his life! At every turn, the Palo Santo wood kept surprising him, and the _core_..! Oh, Ollivander wishes he had a hundred of those feathers. He had no idea what they were, but they were twice as magical as the phoenix feather, and the only one he had in his possession proved to be the sturdiest, most even tempered wand in the shop, even if it did tend to heat up whenever he was around a sinful person. And that was another use for it: the wand was an excellent character judge. And that was just a passive effect!

'20, 19, 18,' he counted. He had had a good two years with the wand, and every Sunday, just as the boy had requested, he had gone about the ritual just as the boy had requested. And he had been right, too! The blessing he read from the scroll had infused and reinforced the holy water into the shaft and handle of the wand, smoothing out the wood and giving it a fine natural polish. Plus, every time he did it, he could practically feel the wand adjusting slightly, repairing minor damages to its interior and purifying itself. Ollivander had taken to carrying the wand everywhere he went, keeping it inside his robes just above his heart, right next to his own wand. It gave off a light, soothing warmth, as if it recognized him as his maker.

'5, 4,' the wandmaker was going to miss it.

'3, 2' quite a lot actually.

'1…' Mr. Ollivander looked up as he heard the flutter of wings, and his pale, milky orbs met those of pure sapphire. "Well well, Mr. Dursley. Right on time I see," said the old wandmaker. He noticed how the boy seemed to flinch at the mention of his last name, and the wandmaker knew that it wasn't just a false name. "Now, before I sell you this wand, Isaac, I want to ask you a few questions."

The boy nodded and crossed his hands behind his back, waiting patiently for the old wandmaker to satisfy his curiosity. Ollivander looked him up and down, for it was not the same little boy he had seen two years previously. That boy had been frail, meek, and tiny. The boy before him was not only two years older than before, but he was a good deal more developed, and a calm, surreal air seemed to float off of him and pervade the entire shop. "Now, my first question, and please, answer truthfully," he said. Raising the wand up, he pointed to it and asked, "The core of the wand you gave me. What is it?" he asked.

Isaac smiled. "Angel feather," he said calmly. Ollivander's eyes widened. "And where did you get such a feather?" he asked. The angel smiled wider. "From my wings," he said genially. Both of the wandmaker's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "I see no wings on you my boy. Are you trying to tell me you're an angel?" he asked incredulously. Isaac sighed. "That's the problem with humans: you have no faith."

The angel flared his grace, causing his whole body to glow and his eyes to shine with a holy blue light. Behind him, the silhouette of his wings fanned out across the shop wall, astonishing the wandmaker. Isaac held his grace there for a few moments, before letting it fall and folding his wings back to his body. "Believe me now?" he asked.

Ollivander stared dumbfounded at the angel in front of him. "Oh, yes in deed, my Lord," he said, bowing uncertainly.

"Oh, please don't bow! I am not my father, and am certainly not worthy of such an honor!" the angel exclaimed. Ollivander stood up, holding the wand with reverence. "And please, don't refer to me as 'Lord.' That's something that only an archangel like Michael would appreciate. You are a righteous soul, and have no need to fear me," Isaac continued. Then, holding out his hand, he asked softly, "May I have my wand, good craftsman?"

Ollivander nodded and slowly extended his hand, placing the wand into the angel's palm. As soon as the wand touched the angel's flesh, it flashed blindingly white, and the entire shop was filled with a crackling, pure energy. Isaac's grace flared, and Harry's magic began to hum as it attuned itself to the instrument. The wand, for its part, hummed in satisfaction as if it felt the purity of its wielder. True, it would be sad to leave its maker, but it was consoled by the fact that it was returning to its originator.

Isaac nodded in satisfaction, and then a frown shot across his face. "I am sorry, Mr. Ollivander, but I just realized that I have no money to pay for this!" he said, holding up the wand. The shopkeeper was already shaking his wizened head. "I need no payment for the honor of crafting a wand as fine as that one. Although, if I may, can I ask one, small favor?" he asked hesitantly. "And what favor would that be?" Isaac said, raising a dark eyebrow. "May I have another one of your feathers? It is the purest thing I have ever touched, and I would very much like to experiment with it," he said earnestly.

Isaac nodded and reached behind him, wincing as he yanked out another one of his long white feathers. "Here, sir. Be careful with it, now, and do not let anyone take the wand should you decide to make another. And I should warn you, some of my brother's may be attracted to the residual grace that lies in the feather, so be wary. Some of the angels are not as kind as I am." And with that, the angel turned and walked out of the store, cradling his wand to his chest. Ollivander marveled at the feather, spinning it about in his hand, before storing it away in a box and locking it into his desk.

* * *

Isaac halted in the middle of the alley, his grace tingling with excitement. Turning around slowly, Isaac cast out with it, searching for whatever had set his grace off. He felt a returning signal that instantly set him on edge. It was another angel's grace. His angel blade slid into his hand, and he shifted his wings into a battle stance.

Suddenly, his eyes widened as his grace began to relax. He recognized that signature. The grace of the angel that was rapidly approaching him was both warm and cold at the same time, sending a shiver through Isaac's wings that was not altogether unpleasant, so much as unexpected.

"Isaac!" a voice called out through the crowd, and the angel caught sight of a flash of black wings.

"Azrael," his whispered.

* * *

**I know, huge cliffhanger, but I have to get my evilness in somewhere. Isaac is still a child, and that is why he reacted so harshly to the slaying of the three demons. Also, it was Harry's longest known associates, and for better or for worse, they were part of Harry's world. It rocked both the angel and the vessel deeply to kill them, but it affected Harry just a little less as he had so much hatred towards them anyway.**

**Also, thank you for all you reviews, they really mean a lot to me. As an answer to one of the reviewers questions, it is going to be both Azrael/Isaac slash _as well as _Harry/undisclosed vessel. **

**(You thought I was going to spoil it, didn't you? Well you'll just have to wait and see in the next chapter who it is!)**

**Oh, and just in case I forget: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!**

**So there you go. Rate and _REVIEW!_ Azrael next chapter!- **Arudon


	5. Silver and Gold

**Did you know that if a writer is not allowed to write in his story, and he really, really likes it, he'll actually go through withdrawal symptoms? Well, it's true, and I was physically in pain the entire day yesterday. So, to make up for my lack of update, here's an extrac long chapter that I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Isaac shifted quietly, moving into the shadows of the building. He raised his angel blade, in preparation for an ambush. He was excited to hear his friend's voice again, but he had no idea what the angel of death's intentions were. His breathing evened out as he calmed himself. "Isaac!" he heard Azrael call again, and his grace grew closer. Isaac suddenly shot his hand out of the shadows and grabbed what he knew to be the other angel. Spinning about, he pinned the angel to the wall, being careful not to damage his pure black wings. Blue eyes stared into golden ones, and the angels regarded each other silently as Isaac pressed his blade underneath Azrael's throat. "What do you want, brother?" he asked softly, his eyes blazing with intensity

Azrael's thoughts were in a complete turmoil. He had just been shopping with his vessel when his grace had gone crazy, indicating there was another angel nearby. Azrael had decided to investigate the source of this grace, and as soon as he had neared Ollivanders, his senses had gone haywire, demanding that he get a move on. It was Isaac, there was no mistaking that angel's grace. He had a scent that was…intoxicating to the angel of death.

He stared into the blue eyes of Isaac, confident that his oldest friend would not push his blade any farther. "Peace, Isaac, I only wish to talk," he said, trying to pacify the angel. "Yeah, you and how many other angels?" asked Isaac, his eyes boring holes into the angel of death. He pressed his angel blade harder against the other angel's throat.

"Brother, I swear on my sacred grace that I am alone and only seeking you for a chance to talk," Azrael said quickly, seeking to calm down the obviously tense angel. Isaac knew that the angel of death was telling the truth, as no angel could say that particular phrase while being dishonest, or they would be smote instantly by a force still unknown to any of the angels. Still, this only proved that he was an angel, and he could still prove to be an imposter. There were certain angels, Isaac knew, that could mimic another angel's grace in order to lure out a target.

"Show me your angel blade!" he said, not relinquishing any pressure on his own blade. "Show me your blade and I'll believe you." Isaac looked into the golden orbs of Azrael's vessel, waiting for the spark of recognition to show. The words he had spoken were actually a code that he and Azrael had created while in heaven, in case someone tried to pose as one of them. Azrael smiled as he recognized the code, and said the appropriate pass-phrase, "I would, but I seem to have left it in my other coat." He then lifted his hand anyway and summoned his scythe.

Azrael relaxed as he felt the warm metal of his own scythe flow into his fingers, and the angel blade was removed from under his neck. As Azrael was an angel of death, his angel blade was unique among heaven, as it was not so much a blade as a scythe, but still fell under the classification of an angel blade as it could smite other angels. It was wicked and cruel looking, with a white crystal embedded at the base of the handle, creating a secondary blade. It also held properties only known to the angel of death, and he was loathe to reveal them to anyone.

Isaac backed away, only to be grabbed by the angel and have his positions flipped, with the black winged angel pressing him against the wall while his own pure white wings flared out in surprise. He looked into the deep golden eyes of his friend. "What are you doing, Azrael?" he asked. Isaac gasped when he felt the angel of death's hands carding through his feathers, caressing his wings and working around to his back. It had been so long since anyone had touched him there, as the wings were an angel's most sensitive part of their anatomy, acting as secondary sensory organs, able to pick up changes in temperature, pressure, and grace. Only the angels that were most trusted by the one in question were allowed to touch them. It was a sign of intimacy typically reserved for heaven, but for the contact starved angels, it was sheer bliss.

Azrael took another deep breath, drawing in the aroma of his captive's grace. "You have always been the most intoxicating angel I have ever met. One whiff of your grace and I'm walking on the clouds," Azrael said, before burying his head in Isaac's neck. "God, it's been so long since I've actually touched another angel, or even felt another angel's grace. And to finally find you…well, this is the best day I've had in a long time!" he whispered against Isaac's skin, his breath raising goose-bumps on the other angel's neck, and his entire body shivered as those devilish hands manipulated his wings, turning him into a pile of mush under their administrations. A soft rumbling passed through his chest, and the angel of death smiled. The child of heaven was actually purring at his touch.

"I've missed you to, Azrael," Isaac whispered, while running a hand through his black feathers in return. Azrael shuddered at the touch, and then pulled away. Now was not the time to get too intimate; not in a darkened alley where they could be exposed to attack. "Come on," Azrael said, grabbing the other angel's hand and pulling him along as he stepped back into the street (well, it was still technically an alley as it was named 'Diagon Alley'). He sent a pulse of grace through the crowd, implanting a telepathic suggestion to clear a path. Still dragging the child of heaven behind him, Azrael made his way through the now open path.

"You're here for Hogwarts shopping, I'm sure," Azrael called, while Isaac hurried to catch up so he wasn't being dragged behind like some dog on a leash. "Yes, my vessel needs proper training in magic. As, I suppose, yours does as well?" he asked, and the angel of death nodded. Entering a bookshop, he released the other angel's hand, grabbed his shoulder, and spun him so they were eye to eye. "Listen well, Isaac" he said, his voice dropping so that no one but them could here. "I don't care if our vessels like each other or not, I am never letting you out of my sight ever again. Do you understand that?" he hissed the last question, golden eyes blazing with intensity.

Isaac nodded, if only to make the angel let go of him, while he sent out a tendril of his grace to soothe and reassure the angel of death. He knew that Azrael could get highly possessive at times, but this was pushing it, even for him. "Speaking of our vessels, don't you think we should let them meet?" Isaac asked. "I mean, it seems we're going to be seeing a lot of each other anyway, so why not?"

Azrael nodded, and both angels' eyes flashed white, before fading back to their natural colors of green and silver. Azrael's vessel extended his hand. "Hi, it's nice to finally meet the vessel of the famous Isaac. Azrael talks a lot about that angel of yours, and it can sometimes get a little weird when he describes his time in heaven. I'm Draco Malfoy, what's your name?" he asked, speaking quickly with a smile on his face.

Harry grasped the offered hand and shook it firmly. "Pleasure to meet you, Draco. I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

Draco's mouth fell open. "You're joking," he said after a few moments, before reforming his face and looking at Harry with a suspicious glare. "Prove it!" he exclaimed. Harry tilted his head to the side, revealing his lightning bolt scar. It hadn't faded over the years, and Isaac had explained that as it had housed the fragment of a soul, it probably never would. Also, Isaac thought it made Harry look rather dashing, so he encouraged him to try to keep it. Draco's eyes widened as he caught sight of the scar. His silver orbs traveled over the rest of the boy's body, cataloging all his features and attributes into a mental list.

He truly was an attractive boy for only eleven, with a small, petite body and gorgeous green eyes. Those eyes seemed to stare into Draco's soul, and they made him just a tad uncomfortable. He wasn't too scrawny, but he certainly wasn't too big either. Instead, he was light and flexible, with lithe muscles that seemed to be built for a sprinter. It was perfect for Draco's taste, and he passed every single one of his requirements. The blond relaxed, and patted the boy-who-lived on the shoulder. "Well, a pleasure to meet you then, Harry Potter. Now, do you have your money for school?" he asked the boy, and frowned when he saw Harry shake his head. "Well, we'll just have to change that. Come on!" he said, and just as Azrael had done with Isaac, so did Draco repeat with Harry, grabbing his wrist and pulling him through the crowd behind him.

As they walked, their eyes flashed white once again, as the angels wanted another chance to talk and catch up after two years of silence. Isaac walked next to Azrael, matching the dark winged angel's pace and stroking his grace with his own. Azrael preened under the attention that his friend was showering on him, and pulled the other angel just a little closer. "So how did you find your vessel?" he asked, curious as to how Isaac had found a vessel for the first time in nearly four thousand years.

"I had been watching him for eight years, ever since he moved in with his adopted family," Isaac said, recalling all the times he had looked through the portal as his innocent vessel had been stomped on, abused, and humiliated. "I had wanted to go to him before, but he had never been strong enough for me until two years ago. Yesterday marked the two year anniversary of our union. Before he left, Father himself told me to go do as I please. Well, at least I think he did, you can never be too sure what he means. Anyway, my vessel had been abused, severely, and I needed to get him away from those people. That and Michael was still hunting for me."

Azrael felt his vessel screaming inside of him, appalled that the savior of the wizarding world had been treated with such a harsh upbringing. For the pureblood, the concept of child abuse was almost foreign, as the wizarding world was facing a crisis with lower birth rates than normal. Some families would actually fight over custody of an orphaned wizard, and there were no such things as orphanages in the wizarding world. The punishment for child abuse, though they hadn't had a case in almost fifty years, was so severe that it made the dementor's kiss look like a teacher rapping a student's hand with a ruler. Azrael shushed him in favor of listening to what Isaac was saying.

"The morning after I merged with him, Harry and I were confronted by two angels from Castiel's garrison," Isaac said, and Azrael nodded as he recognized the name of one of heaven's greatest angels. Castiel was a living legend to many in heaven, and his exploits were told to fledglings as bedtime stories. "They were Ishmael and Isaiah. They said they came from Michael with express orders to take me back to heaven. When I refused, Isaiah lost his temper and attacked me. I had to kill him in self defense. Afterwards I fled, and hid in a sanctuary."

"Where did you go?" Azrael asked, as he had gone looking for the elusive angel, and he thought he had looked in every nook and cranny there was on earth. "I went to the one place the angel's would never go. The ruins of Nym Doch," Isaac said, his eyes turning to the ground and the memories of the old fortress. Azrael shook his head. "But I visited Nym Doch, and I didn't find you. How could you have hidden from me?" he asked.

Isaac nodded, before answering in a slow voice. "I detected your grace when I first landed, but I thought you were just stopping off on one of your soul collecting rounds. Whatever happened, Azrael, to cause you to abandon your post in heaven?" Isaac asked, wondering at why the angel of death would leave such important work to be undone. The reaping of souls was a highly demanding task, as the reapers needed guidance, and it had been Azrael's job for centuries to see that it was carried out correctly. The angel of death shook his head sadly, recalling the events that had forced him into leaving heaven.

"Michael became frantic after you left Isaac. I know what he wanted with you, and I think it's despicable. He then wanted to use me, as my grace is also unique in heaven, and so I had to flee. Also, my position was no longer needed. They tried to hide it from me, but I learned the truth the second it happened. My other father, Death, has been released. My position in heaven is now redundant, as the reapers are now looking to him for guidance, instead of to me. Not that I'm complaining, it's been so liberating being able to move freely for the first time in thousands of years," he flared his grace and flapped his wings, emphasizing his words.

"I left not but two hours after you did, and I also found myself a mage as my true vessel," he went on. "Draco wasn't abused, per say, but he was neglected somewhat and was very lonely. I heard him crying out when I went down to earth, so I asked him to be my vessel, and he said yes," Azrael said, pulling Isaac through a particularly tight ring of people. "Granted, he was a bit blinded by arrogance when I first entered him, but after two years I managed to open his mind a bit. I still have to keep up outwards appearances, but at least he doesn't go around calling muggle born's 'mudbloods' anymore. He's a very gifted boy, and I took it upon myself to try to train him as best as I could." The angel stopped, having finally reached their destination.

The angels' eyes flashed white, and the blue and gold were replaced by green and silver. Draco gripped Harry's hand tighter, and together they entered Gringotts wizarding bank.

* * *

Harry had a little bit of trouble with the goblins, as they apparently had had several problems in the past of boys pretending to be Harry Potter trying to enter his vaults. Both Draco and Harry had to hold their respective angels back, as they kept trying to break out and smite the whole hall. Apparently, goblins and angels had never gotten along, and somewhere along the line heaven had issued a kill on sight order for the diminutive creatures. Fortunately, the command was a very old one and hardly held sway anymore, and the angels were eventually able to overcome their baser urges and stopped giving the boy's any grief.

Draco proved to be enormously helpful, throwing his weight around and manipulating the goblins with both his and Harry's stature as leverage. Soon they were hurtling down the tunnels in the back of one of the Gringotts carts, their pale and black hair flapping in the winds, and their mismatched wings threatening to yank them off as they rounded another bend at high speeds. The angels were laughing their heads off, having never experienced this kind of speed except when flying. Their grace mingled in the air, and their laughter rang out in the heads of the two boys, drawing smiles onto their vessel's faces. There was something about angel laughter that was so contagious. When either Isaac or Azrael laughed, the world seemed to grow a little bit brighter and just a tad kinder. Guess it was just a side effect of being an angel.

When they finally reached Harry's vault, both boys were actually reluctant to get out of the cart. When the goblin driver finally did manage to coax them out, he turned and opened the vault door, revealing mountains of gold, silver, and precious gems. Isaac was reminded of the treasure vault from heaven, except there the walls were stark white, and the room was infinitely bigger. Harry collected a bag of gold for his shopping, and together, he and Draco left the vault.

Draco was shocked at how much had been in there. It was nearly twice as much as what was in the Malfoy vault, and that was saying something. When he questioned Harry, all he got were shrugs and "I don't knows" as answers. As they were standing in the main hall off Gringotts after stepping off the cart, Draco finally grew frustrated. "Why don't you know anything about your family, Harry? Did those muggle relatives of yours even tell you that you were a wizard?" he asked, a scowl across his face.

Harry looked down at the floor. "No, they didn't. Isaac was the one who told me," he said. Then, as if he was afraid to stop talking, he began to spill out all his secrets. "They kept me locked up in a cupboard for eight years of my life, making me do housework and beating me whenever I didn't do it fast enough. They kept calling me a freak, and every time something strange would happen or something would go wrong they always blamed me and I was punished. They told me my parents died in a car crash, said that they were drunk and they left me with them. They said they didn't love me. No one did. Not until Isaac came!" Tears were spilling out of the small boy's eyes, and he buried his head into the nearest solid object, which happened to be Draco's shoulder.

Draco was unsure of how to react. Part of him was still trying to comprehend what had just been said to him. 'Lived in a cupboard for eight years? Called him a Freak? Beat him? What the hell?' he thought. Another part of him, the angel, smacked some sense into him. '_Come on Draco! That kid needs some support. He's Isaac's vessel after all. Comfort him!_' shouted Azrael. Draco nodded, and wrapped his arms around the sobbing boy, crooning softly and patting him comfortingly. He extended his magic a bit, and it joined Isaac's grace in trying to soothe Harry's aching magic. After a few minute's the combined force of Draco's magic and Isaac's grace was enough to bring Harry down from his emotional high. Wiping his eyes, he murmured an apology and turned to leave.

Draco grabbed him by his arm, halting his progress. Spinning him about, he looked into those deep emerald eyes and said in a soft voice, "Harry, what they did was wrong. And I can assure you, no matter what happens, from now on no one will ever dare to hurt you. They'll have to go through me if they want to even try." Draco's silver eyes gleamed with conviction, and Harry nodded in understanding. Grabbing his hand, Draco led him from the hall, his money bag bouncing against his thigh from where it hung on his belt.

* * *

They hit Madame Malkin's first, where Draco bossed the shopkeeper into getting some decent clothes for the young boy. Harry hadn't had a change of clothes in two years, as Isaac's grace kept them clean and never frayed. They were, however still too big, as they had been made to accommodate a 9 year old Dudley. Draco's nose wrinkled as he saw the old muggle rags sitting on the chair after Harry had changed into his new robes. He whispered to the shopkeeper to dispose of them, and the woman nodded and left with the clothes.

After they exited the shop, Draco took Harry to an apothecary to get his potions supplies. Here, the Malfoy heir proved invaluable, as, thanks to his magical upbringing, he could tell just by looking if an ingredient was fresh or not. He argued with the shopkeeper for ten minutes on the quality of a nymdrone root, while Harry wandered around the store, his resident angel cataloging everything he saw. Eventually, they left the store with a pair of collapsible cauldrons of the finest make, along with several fine potions ingredients.

Afterwards, they hit Flourish and Blotts, the book store that the angels had ducked into when they first met. Isaac and Azrael were both reminded of the library of heaven, as it had the same seemingly endless volume of books. The only difference, just like in Harry's vault, was the like of whiteness and vaulted ceilings. That was one thing the angels could agree on: the different colors of earth were much nicer that the uniform whiteness of heaven. It was almost as if some crazy seraph had gotten hold of some magical paintbrush and decided to whitewash the whole place. It was so white it was painful!

After purchasing their books from the kindly shopkeeper, Draco and Harry went back out into the middle of Diagon Alley. "So, will you be going home now?" Draco asked, horrified of what would happen if the small boy were to return to those horrible muggles. He would not allow them to hurt his boy. Wait…his boy? Draco sighed as he looked at Harry's face. Wide eyes and pouty lips? Simply adorable.

"Well, it's not like I really can, seeing as how their dead." Harry said flatly, eyes lowering once again to the pavement. Draco's eyes widened. "You killed them?" he asked horrified.

Harry immediately shook his head. "I didn't," he said quickly. "Isaac did. But he had no choice, they were possessed by demons and attacked us. It happened just this morning!" Harry said, his eyes widening, hoping that Draco wouldn't judge him. He started when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. "It's okay, Harry. I understand perfectly. Azrael's done his fair share of smiting during his time with me. You can just return with me to my house. I don't want father seeing you though, so you'll have to fly in." Draco's eyes flashed white and then faded to gold as Azrael took over. Harry's eyes did the same, and soon the two angels were staring at each other.

"Brother, you're going to have to read my mind to see where the manor is," Azrael said, and he fixed an image of the mansion and its location firmly in his mind. He felt Isaac's grace enter his thoughts, and smiled as the fellow angel absorbed the information. Nodding, Isaac stepped back and flared his grace, spread his wings, and was gone with a flap of feathers.

Azrael nodded, and his eyes flashed white once more as he handed back control to Draco. The vessel glanced around the street, looking for his father. "Do you think he'll be alright at the manor?" he asked Azrael. Inside of him, he felt the angel of death nod in amusement. '_Absolutely. Isaac is the best infiltrator heaven has ever produced, even if he is not of that class. He'll know how to manage himself. Although, I always managed to beat him whenever we played angel's and demon's. But I guess he wasn't really trying very hard, and I had a lot of motivation.'_

"Angel's and Demon's?" Draco asked in confusion. '_It's sort of a cross between tag and hide-and-go-seek. One angel plays the, well, angel; and the other plays the demon. It's the demon's job to try to stay away from the angel as long as possible, but he has to stay mobile and can't hide in one spot for more than thirty seconds. The angel tries to catch the demon, and the round ends whenever the demon is finally caught and pinned. Isaac more often than not ended up underneath me. He was a lousy demon.'_ The angel chuckled as fond memories of his time in heaven flashed through his head. He was always chasing after the white winged angel, and the reward was always so sweet when he caught him.

Azrael shook himself as he saw Draco's father walking up to them. Draco smiled, and the older Malfoy nodded coldly in return. "Are you ready to go, Draco?" he asked, and the small boy nodded. "Yes father, I'm all set."

The Malfoy patron nodded, and extended his hand. Resting in the center of it was a small wooden box that would portkey them back to the manor. As soon as Draco touched it, he felt the familiar tug on his navel, and he was spinning faster and faster.

When they finally landed, Draco stumbled a bit. Portkey travel always left him with too much blood rushing to his head. "Dinner is in one hour," Luscius said to his son. "I suggest you wash up in that time." Draco nodded, but stopped when he felt the familiar tug on his magic by his resident angel's grace. _'Let's find Isaac first and get him to your room,'_ Azrael said. Draco nodded and walked off, following the invisible lines that would lead him to the child of heaven.

* * *

Isaac had landed in the middle of an empty sitting room. He had passed unnoticed through the wards surrounding the manor using his angelic grace to bypass them, all the while disguising Harry's magical signature. Glancing from side to side, he quickly sank into the shadows, using his grace to set a perception filter around himself and his vessel. Now, even if someone looked directly at him, they would not see him or would think nothing of him. It was quite a handy trick for an angel, and was often taught to those who were of the infiltration class. Isaac had learned it one day out of boredom, and was now more thankful than ever for that decision.

He crawled into a closet that was standing open, and dragged some of the large, furry coats off their hangars and arranged them in a bed-like pattern on the floor in the corner. Nodding, he curled up on his makeshift cot and fell into a slumber, waiting until Azrael returned to the mansion. He didn't have to wait long, as the closet door was thrown open and a familiar body was standing before him. "Come on, I need to take you to my room," he said quietly, and Isaac nodded as he pushed himself up. Tiptoeing, the pair went up an ornate flight of stairs and through a set of doors.

Looking around, Isaac's eyes flared white as he handed back control to Harry. The small boy marveled at the opulence the room practically emanated. A large, canopied bed sat against one side of the room, with drawback curtains for privacy. On the other side, a walk in bathroom could be seen, along with a full length mirror. Harry spun around, his mouth wide open, while the owner of the room chuckled silently. Harry's reaction was absolutely adorable, and he looked like Christmas had come early for him. Walking forward, he took the boy into the bathroom and showed him all the accessories that were available. He actually had to explain to the boy how to use half of the equipment, as Harry had never had the chance to actually take care of himself in such a fashion.

Draco even had to show him how to brush his teeth, as Harry's magic and Isaac's grace had always taken care of it for him. Still, Harry learned at a rapid pace, and was soon able to work everything in the bathroom. Draco then asked for him to leave, as he had to wash up and prepare for dinner.

While Draco was in the bathroom, Harry made the amazing discovery that the full length mirror could actually speak, as it had called out, "Hey there cutesy," as he walked by it. Turning back to it, Harry peered into the mirror and was shocked to see the reflection was not his own. Instead, he was looking at Isaac. The angel waved at him from within the mirror, and Isaac perked up inside of him. _'Hey, it's me!'_ he said, and Harry's mouth dropped open as the mirror angel's lips moved, forming the words exactly as Isaac said them. _'Oh, I see what this is. It's showing the interior of your soul, Harry. I guess it must be some kind of magical invention.'_ The angel took the opportunity to preen his feathers, which were a little disorganized, until they were the picture of perfection. He was startled when a black wing entered the frame, and an arm was slung around Harry's shoulder.

Draco had come out of the washroom to see his boy staring wide eyed into the mirror. He smiled, knowing that Isaac was taking the opportunity to make himself look presentable. It had been a trick that Azrael had done after he had entered Draco's life. Angels are many things, and being neat and orderly is one of them. Azrael had charmed the mirror to reflect himself, so he could touch up before he left. Draco walked over and slung his arm around Harry's shoulder, and looked into the mirror as he saw Azrael repeat the movement for Isaac.

"I'll be back in an hour. Stay here and don't leave this room," he said. Laughing, he swept out of the room, locking the door behind him and making his way down the hall to the dining room.

* * *

Harry looked between the locked door and the bed, before a huge yawn spread across his features._ 'You need some sleep Harry,'_ Isaac said, nudging Harry over to the bed. Harry nodded and begin to strip down, too tired to care where his clothes landed, until he crawled into the bed wearing only his boxers._ 'I'll stay up and keep guard. You get some sleep, okay?'_ Isaac said, and Harry nodded before his eyes flashed white before settling to blue. "Goodnight, my vessel," whispered the angel as he spread his wings out under the covers. He settled in on his back, and began to daydream of his time in heaven.

He didn't hear the creak of the door opening hours later, and he didn't hear the rustle of clothes as the intruder shed his layers. He did feel the covers being thrown back, and suddenly a body was on top of him, pressing him down. Hands slid across his body, one sliding into his wings, while the other caressed his chest. Azrael spread his own wings, fanning them out and letting his grace caress over Isaac. "Finally, I have you pinned underneath me after two years," he whispered, as he lowered his head and breathed in the angel's grace.

The dinner had been stressful, as they always were. Why did Draco's parents have to be so cold, all the time? He desperately needed something to alleviated the tension. Luckily, he had his very own stress reliever locked up in his room, on his bed, currently underneath him. Spreading his fingers, he caressed the soft, silky feathers and supple white skin, a smile breaking out across his face as he heard a moan being drawn out of the other angel. He breathed in Isaac's sweet scent, and laid down completely, covering the angel with his body. He eventually fell asleep that way, with his hands still in Isaac's wings, breathing smoothly and enjoying the feeling of another angel's grace and wings after two years of silence.

* * *

Far away, Alcasan raised the hand of his vessel. As he watched, it disintegrated before his very eyes. Vacating his host, he looked down as the body turned to dust. "That's the third vessel so far," he said, truly disgusted at how weak the humans had become. Raising his head, he tried to catch a scent of Isaac's grace, but it was useless without a vessel to smell it with.

Moving up, the hunter swooped through the clouds, mumbling to himself. "Well, it looks like I'll just have to use a mage," he said. "This is not going to be pleasant." And with that, the Siam Dot flew down, sending out his grace in search of a worthy host. "I'll find you Isaac," he said. "I'll hunt you to the ends of the earth if I have to, but I'll find you."

* * *

**Oh, have I got plans for Alcasan. Now, reasons for making Draco Azrael.**

**1) Azrael in Draco's body has pale blond hair, almost white, and midnight black wings. Isaac has pure white wings and jet black hair. The contrast between the two was too tempting not to write.**

**2) I just had to write Draco's reaction to Harry's abused upbringing, as it would only serve to elevate his importance in Draco's view.**

**3) Ron Weasley had been my other candidate for Azrael, but I think that most of you would crucify me if I split up Ron and Hermione. That relationship is too canon to even begin to shake, so I won't even try.**

**Now, as for the interactions between the two angels and the level of maturity that both Draco and Harry display, I think there is some explanation due. Harry grew up having to bottle up all of his emotions and repress his childish urges, and was exposed to much more of life's harsh realities than a normal child. Thus, he will be naturally more mature than a typical eleven year old. Draco was raised in a posh environment, however, he was always forced to behave and act a certain way, and thus had to grow up a lot faster than most others his age. Azrael and Isaac are both angels, who have had a very long friendship between them. Angels by nature are very social creatures, and both Isaac and Azrael have been cut of from the network for two whole years. Also, adding to the maturity of the two boys, the angels are both at least five thousand years old, and they're not just talking or speaking to Draco and Harry, no they've been living inside them for two freaking years. That's a long time for an eleven year old kid. Still, I'll try to make them act more like children.**

**I made Draco slightly OOC, but I mean, come on! How could I not? He's got a righteous angel living inside of him, of course he's going to be nicer. Now, this doesn't mean he won't still be a Slytherin, as Azrael is quite the crafty angel, but he won't be the same pompous bastard he is in the books and the early movies.**

**Also, Azrael's scythe/angel blade is actually from Supernatural. I was thinking to myself, What would be a good weapon for him? And then I thought 'Well, if he's an angel of death, why not a scythe?' But then another part of me thought, 'Well, that's a little too harsh. I mean, he is an angel after all.'**

**My compromise: Sam's Knife. It's also called the Klaww of Death. You can look it up on google or visit my profile for a link to the picture of it. It is awesome, and I was so happy when I found it.**

**I hope you all have a good year! One of my New Year's Resolutions is to never make an author's note this long ever again!**

**Ta-ta, now. Rate and Review!-** Arudon


	6. That's Cheating!

**Thanks to all my beloved reviewers. I have devoted this chapter to you. Enjoy!**

* * *

Isaac was the first of the two angels to wake up. Sleep was still a strange concept for the angel, as it was not required of angels in heaven. However, due to Harry's young age he still required a minimum of six hours at least. Over the two year period that Isaac had lived on earth, he had grown to actually enjoy the process. It left his mind feeling refreshed, and allowed him to organize his thoughts more clearly. He was a tad confused when at first he couldn't move, and then he caught a whiff of the angel's grace that was on top of him. Azrael had fallen asleep with his hands still in Isaac's wings, and the child of heaven was loathe to try to remove them. It just felt so good!

Wiggling slightly, Isaac finally managed to get out from under the black winged angel and off the bed. Stretching, he spread his wings to their fullest extent, feeling the joints pop. He walked to the window and looked out across the grounds. Early morning sunlight was reflected a thousand times in the dew that covered the grass, making it look like they were resting on top of a sea of diamonds. Glancing about, Isaac noticed his clothes were still on the floor from where he had stripped them off last night. He walked over and picked them up, before remembering the bathroom that Draco had shown them yesterday. Walking into the room, he noticed the huge bathtub.

Isaac's eyes flared white as he gave control back over to Harry. '_I'd rather not get my wings wet, so you can go on ahead and bathe yourself,_' the angel said, as his vessel rubbed his eyes and let out an enormous yawn. Thinking back to what Draco had shown him, Harry took out his wand and tapped the side of the tub. Instantly, steaming hot water began to pool at the bottom of the Jacuzzi sized bathtub, and in fifteen seconds it was full.

Harry pulled off his boxers and stepped into the tub, letting out a sigh as the hot water began to relax his aching muscles. Lying back, he swished his hand around underwater, his entire body, minus his head, submerged. 'Some bubbles would really complete this,' Harry thought, and as if it was waiting for this, bubbles began to issue from the sides of tub. '_BUBBLES!_' cried Isaac in delight, and Harry readily agreed with his enthusiasm. He flicked his hands back and forth, sending some of the bubbles into the air. He was so busy playing with them that he didn't hear the door creak open.

Draco blinked confusedly for a moment. Why was there a boy playing with the bubbles in his bathtub? Then he remembered the events of yesterday, courtesy of a friendly angel of death, and a scowl spread across his face. Walking over, he stood before the tub with his arms on his hips, giving the laughing boy a death glare. Eventually, the green eyed boy noticed that he had an audience and turned his laughing emeralds onto cold quicksilver orbs. "Enjoying yourself?" Draco asked with an edge to his voice. "Yes, why do you ask?" Harry asked, his eyes twinkling and a playful smile spread across his face.

Draco was not amused. "You're in my bathtub," he said, gritting his teeth. A quizzical look came over Harry's face. "Yeah, so? What's the big deal?" he asked. "I _always_ have the first bath!" Draco shouted, enraged that this boy would have the impudence to use _his_ bathtub and play with _his_ bubbles! "Get OUT!" he cried, only to be splashed in the face by the other boy.

"You know what they say, Draco. Early bird gets the warm!" Harry laughed at the twitch that was forming in Draco's upper jaw. Draco pulled out his wand and went to tap the side, only for it to be smacked away. "If you try to steal my bubbles, I will smite you!" Harry growled, his tone indicating that he was not messing around. Draco let out a roar and shot his hands forward, grabbing onto the kid that was playing in his bathtub. Harry grabbed onto the sides. "No! I don't want to get out! You can't make me!" he screamed, and after the following tussle, Harry was sprawled naked across the tiles of the bathroom floor, and Draco was sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed and sopping wet. Bubbles were all over the bathroom, and it made the room look as if the bathtub had just vomited. Which, in a way, it had.

Harry hauled himself off the floor and grabbed a towel, appalled at the rudeness the blond had shown. "You want a bath so badly? Then take it! I was done anyway," he said, before sauntering out of the room with the towel wrapped around his waist, leaving Draco to stew in the tub, seething at the audacity his new houseguest had just shown.

* * *

After Draco had washed up and cleaned up the mess that was the bathroom, he returned to his room to find Harry rifling through his clothes. "What the heck do you think you're doing?" he cried, before bending down to begin picking up the discarded articles of clothing. "Looking for some clothes!" Harry said without turning around, his attention completely focused on the wardrobe. Draco hissed when he saw a crinkle in his third favorite shirt. It had cost thirty five galleons, and was made of silk imported from the Far East. It would not be easy to iron out. "What's wrong with your own clothes?" Draco asked, his eyes widening in shock as he watched another pair of pants fly over the black haired boy's shoulder. "I can't find them," called the boy, as he pulled out an emerald green shirt and held it to his chest. "Do you think this is my style?" he asked Draco, turning so as to better display it. The emerald was the exact shade of Harry's eyes, and it made them sparkle with light.

"Yes," Draco admitted. "But you're not wearing it! You're clothes are in the other wardrobe!" he cried, pointing at the smaller closet on the other side of the room. A look of comprehension passed over Harry's face, and he formed a small 'Oh' with his mouth, before moving over to the other wardrobe and leaving Draco's in a mess. The blond huffed as he bent down to clean up after the black haired boy, seriously considering if angels could bounce if chucked out of high windows. '_Now don't you get any funny ideas,'_ Azrael warned him, and Draco nodded.

Harry eventually found a pair of robes that suited him nicely, and he relished in the feeling of clothes that actually fit him. After years of living in Dudley's rags, he had gotten used to the feeling of oversized clothes. Now, his robes seemed to press against his skin, enclosing him. Isaac shifted about and flared his wings, trying to get comfortable with the feeling of the clothes on his wing-plates (where an angel's wings connect to his body). Harry stepped in front of the full length mirror and watched as Isaac preened his feathers. Angels really were a lot like birds! A loose or misplaced feather could drive them insane, and they spent hours making sure they were all in the right spot. Harry was pulled from his musings as his stomach gave a ferocious growl, sending the blond boy into a hysterical laughing fit. He sat down on the bed and glared at Draco, not appreciating being the brunt of one of his jokes

After he had stopped laughing, he called out loud, "Dobby?" and with a snap, a diminutive creature appeared in the middle of the room. It was about knee high, and had baggy, sunken skin but huge perking ears. A single tuft of white hair sat on top of his head, and a pillow case hung around his body. "I would like an extra large helping of breakfast today. In fact, change my normal helpings to two people, and have them delivered to the room," Draco ordered, and the little elf bobbed his head up and down. "Oh, and Dobby?" Draco said as the elf was about to dissaparate. "Yes master?" it asked in an impossibly squeaky voice. "Not a word of this to father." The elf nodded, and with a snap of his fingers he was gone.

"What was that?" Harry asked, completely bewildered by the creature that had appeared out of nowhere. Draco was puzzled by the question, until he remembered Harry's upbringing. "That was a house elf. Most wizarding have at least one. They act like servants, or slaves, if you prefer, and they live to serve only one family forever," Draco informed him.

Harry looked down, and a tear began to pool in his eye, memories of eight long years of servitude springing forth in his mind. Draco was taken aback. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, going over to sit by Harry and throwing an arm around the smaller boy. "I know how it feels. To be a slave. To work tirelessly and believe in your heart that you will serve a single family forever." Harry sobbed, burying his head in his hands as the grief of his misspent youth surged back to him. Draco pulled the other boy close, soothing away his sorrow, and ran a hand through his soft black hair. Eventually they calmed down, and Harry just lay there with his head in Draco's hands, enjoying the feeling of a comforting stokes he was receiving. The moment was broken by the return of Dobby, bearing two trays of food. Harry's perception filters were still up, so the elf took no notice of the small boy his master was cradling and said in his squeaky voice, "Breakfast is served, master!"

Nodding, Draco laid Harry down on the bed and took the trays from the wobbling elf, before dismissing him back to his other duties. With a crack, the elf was gone, leaving Draco to the task of getting the depressed boy to eat.

After a great deal of sweet talking and coaxing, he finally managed to get Harry to start eating. Then Draco made an important discovery. As well as working him, beating him, and treating him like a slave, Harry had also been starved, which had lead to his diminutive height. Harry ended up eating only a third of his breakfast, before Draco was forced to dispose of it. He added expanding Harry's appetite to the list of duties he would have to perform before they left for school in a week.

"Hey, how about I show you the grounds?" Draco asked. "They're magnificent right now!" he said, trying to cheer the melancholy boy up. Harry nodded, and Draco helped him off the bed and together they left the room. Harry marveled at the house's size. He hadn't had a good opportunity yesterday to truly admire at how huge it was, but in the early morning sunlight, every single piece of polished furniture shimmered with light, reflecting across the house a million times and making the whole place feel magical.

Draco threw open a pair of French doors, and Harry marveled at the view. Laid out before him was a massive lawn, with flowers the half the size of him blooming from the ground in huge patches. Hills rolled off to the side, and in the distance Harry could see a row of hedges, forming what looked like a maze. Twin fountains shot water high into the air, where it caught the early morning sunlight and sent rainbows flashing across the ground. '_This, right now, is more beautiful than anything I have ever seen in all my time in heaven,'_ Isaac said with awe. '_This is why my father ordered us to love you humans above him. He's good for the grand scale pictures and soaring mountains, but you humans, you can build things that are almost twice as beautiful. You are miniature gods in your own right. And it has never been more apparent than now.'_

Harry stepped out into the wonderland, before he decided he just felt like running. And so he did. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, taking him through the huge, multicolored flowers that swayed in the breeze and past the towering fountains. He ran until he had no more breath, and then just flopped down on the ground, panting. His eyes flashed white, before settling to blue, and Isaac spread his wings across the grass, sighing in bliss as he felt the dew on the grass caress his feathers. He felt a flare of grace, and smiled as Azrael flopped down behind him, his feet in the opposite direction and the top of his head touching Isaac's. Their grace played and mingled in the air, as the sun rose higher and higher, setting the sky on fire in a dazzling light show.

"I've been here two years and it never gets old," Azrael said, smiling as he watched a bright starling flit through the sky. It was joined by a dove, and together the two birds played in the air, their white and black feathers striking beautifully. Azrael glanced to the side as he felt a bump, and saw one of Isaac's wings had extended back. He extended his own wing, overlapping the white feathers with midnight black, just as the starling did for the dove above them. They lay there for a long time, just enjoying the morning, until the sun had fully risen and the sky turned a bright blue.

Azrael sat up and turned around, staring down at Isaac's inverted face. "Let's play angel's and demon's," he said, a smile blooming across his face. Isaac sat up and put a fist in his hand, and Azrael mimicked the action. "Rock, paper, scissors!" they said simultaneously, and Azrael smirked as he smashed his rock onto Isaac's scissors. "Best two out of three?" Isaac begged, and Azrael shook his head with a laugh. "Start running, demon!" he cried, and closed his eyes and began to count to one hundred.

He heard Isaac get up and start running, and he increased his counting. When he reached seventy, he could no longer feel Isaac's grace, and he opened his eyes. Sure it was cheating, but he knew Isaac was crafty, and if given enough time, the angel of death would never be able to find him. Getting up, he began to stalk his favorite angel.

* * *

Isaac had disguised his grace so as to avoid Azrael for at least a little longer. He had, however, played this game enough times to know that he would not be able to avoid Azrael forever. So, he decided to make him work for his victory, and had dashed into the maze.

It was incredible! The high walls towered way above his small frame, and the blue sky seemed much lower than normal, appearing as more of a low hanging ceiling than miles above his head. It made the path running through the hedges feel much more like a corridor than what it actually was: a simple, gravel path. Although Isaac suspected it of having some kind of magical properties. Harry confirmed this as his magic was tingling all over the further they went into the maze. Isaac quickly realized that he had gotten himself lost, when he found that he had passed the same hedge formation three times. "Well, there's more than one way out of this!" he said, and with a flare of his grace, he was outside the walls of the hedge, and staring directly into a golden pair of eyes.

Isaac let out an 'Eep!' and turned to sprint across the field before him, the angel of death hot in pursuit. Right as he was about to make another jump with his grace, he was tackled from behind and pinned face down in the lawn, his legs trapped under a stronger pair and a body pressing down on top of him. He wriggled around and managed to roll so that he was flat on his back, but that simply made it easier for the black winged angel to pin him down.

Isaac finally gave up and began panting, while Azrael sat on top of him, a victorious grin spread across his face. Isaac closed his eyes and shuddered in pleasure as the angel's hands carded lovingly through his wings, setting his nerves tingling. Azrael chuckled at this reaction, and eventually got up and hauled the white winged angel to his feet, before the pair reversed roles and Isaac closed his eyes and began to count, while Azrael ran off. He didn't know that he was at a distinct disadvantage, as Azrael knew every nook and cranny of the grounds, while he himself had only just arrived.

Azrael watched the angel sit up after loudly announcing "One hundred," and scamper off in the direction of the hills. The angel of death followed after him quietly, sneaking from hiding place to hiding place as the child of heaven continued to search for him. After fifteen minutes of this, Isaac stood at the top of a hill, surveying the grounds and hoping to catch a glimpse of black wings. "Azrael, where are you?" he cried out, frustrated at his lack of success. His answer came in the form of a black and blond blur that struck from behind him, and sent both him and the angel he was supposed to be seeking down the hill.

"AZRAEL THAT'S CHEATING!" he screamed as he was once again pinned underneath the black winged angel. Azrael's smirk widened across his face as he peered down at his captive. "Be quiet little angel, and let the big bad demon take care of you," he whispered as he ran a hand through Isaac's iridescent wings, his hot and cold grace extending to stroke the angel's grace beneath him. A frown set across Isaac's face as he peered furiously up at the angel sitting on top of him. "You cheated!" he said again, trying to force the angel off of him. "What of it?" asked Azrael, smiling at his captive angel. "I'm not playing with you ever again!" Isaac screamed, and he banged his fists on the angel's chest. Azrael stuck out his tongue at him, making the white winged angel scream and rant at him even louder. The angel of death's clear laughter rang out across the grounds, and the dove and the starling once again began to tumble around in the sky.

* * *

Alcasan strode up to the police station, having finally found a vessel that wouldn't burn up on him. It was a middle aged man from Kensington named Henry Fidel, an accomplished but little known alchemist with a mediocre magical core. He would eventually burn up, but certainly not any time soon. Alcasan led his contingent of angels up to the door, where he stopped and snapped his fingers. One of his subordinates sprang forward and opened the door eagerly for the hunter angel, and Alcasan strode into the station.

"I'm here to see an Officer Jeffery Ryan." He said to the secretary, who was sitting behind a tall desk and typing furiously on a computer. She looked over her horn rim glasses at the brown haired man. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, and Alcasan shook his head. "Just tell him the residents of Number 4 Privet Drive would like to see him," he said with a false cheer in his voice. The secretary's eyes widened, and she motioned to a man at the door, who moved forward with his hand on his gun. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the building," the cop said, staring at the angel. Alcasan smiled, and snapped his fingers. One of his minions grabbed the cop and placed his hand on his forehead. The cop screamed as his eyes exploded into white light, and he collapsed to the ground, blood dribbling out of his mouth.

A retching sound came from the now terrified secretary. Turning back around, Alcasan once again smiled at the woman. "Tell me where officer Ryan is now," he said, a malicious grin spreading across his face, "or I'll tear your heart out, still beating, and shove it down your throat and force you to swallow. And then, we'll wait for your own stomach juices to dissolve the heart, before finally killing you."

He smiled widely, and the secretary almost passed out as bile rose in the back of her throat. "He's in office 2B," she said, before pressing a button and opening a door. "Please don't hurt me!" she begged the angel. Alcasan smiled even wider. "Of course I won't hurt you my dear," he said as he walked through the door, and the secretary heaved an enormous sigh, before screaming as one of the subordinate angels shoved an angel blade into her head. "But I never said anything about my friends!" Alcasan called out, before laughing and heading to office 2B.

Throwing open the door, he stepped in and smiled at the dark haired officer who was sitting behind his desk. The man stood up, wondering why Alice hadn't buzzed him to say that he had visitors. "Can I help you, sir?" the police officer asked, before his eyes widened as an invisible hand forced him back into his seat. Alcasan sat down across from him and placed his feet upon the top of his well kept desk. "I think you can, Jeffery," he said, smiling at the bewildered man. The officer shook his head, before peering more closely at the angel. "I'm sorry, have we met before, Mr…?" he asked leadingly. The angel smiled even wider, showing off his perfectly white and slightly pointed teeth. "Alcasan" he said. "And no, we haven't met. But we are now, and I have a few questions for you, Jeffery," the Siam Dot said. The man was covered in residual grace belonging to Isaac; the hunter could just smell it.

"What sort of questions?" the officer asked, becoming a little worried at the angel's continued smiling. "Oh, nothing much," Alcasan said, looking at his manicured nails. "Just tell us about number 4 Privet Drive, including everyone who lived there." Alcasan looked back at the officer, but kept his arm hovering in the air.

Jeffery looked shocked. Slowly, he reached his hand to the hidden gun he had underneath his desk. "We're not supposed to talk about that case, sir," he said, his eyes never leaving the brown ones of Alcasan. The angel shook his head. "A man and a woman outside did something similar to what you're doing now Jeffery. Do you know what we did to them?" asked the hunter, and as if on cue two other angels stepped in behind him. "They're dead!" Alcasan finished, just in time to receive a bullet to the head. Ryan snapped his gun up and shot the other two, only to have the gun fly out of his hand and smash to pieces against the wall.

He looked in horror as Alcasan pulled his head up and looked at him funnily, as if chastising a small child. "Now, now, Jeffery; is that any way to treat your guests? Well I think all semblance of manners has been lost, so I'll just be taking what I want instead." As he said this, he leaned forward and grabbed Jeffery's face. The man screamed as he felt all his memories being torn from his mind, and his life flashed before his eyes. When they were all gone, Alcasan flared his grace, and the human before him exploded into blood.

Wiping off his brown leather jacket, Alcasan looked to the other angels. "Samir, secure the files on the residence. Martin, locate all personnel files you can find." The two angels nodded and left the room. Alcasan looked upwards, closing his eyes in prayer. "We're getting close father. I can feel it."

Far away, God shook his head in sadness.

* * *

**OH, evil evil Alcasan. Oh, you guys are going to love what I do with him. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, but I have just one question for Enuescaris (I think that's how you spell it): What is that on your profile page? A gryphon? An eagle? Superman? What?**

**I would also like to say that I am a huge fan of long chapters, and typically my chapters are wordy ones that take a little while to write, which is why I am in love with my Christmas vacation. I was looking through the other stories, just out of curiosity, and came upon one that had 13 chapters and only 16,000 words. My story is only six chapters and its got more meat in it than that. Alright, sorry for the rant, just had to get that off my chest.**

**Rate and Review! ****Ta-ta!- **Arudon


	7. How Are You Still Alive?

**Thanks so much for all your support. I got several question marks thrown at me about the evilness of a certain Alcasan. Now, I said before heaven rarely uses them, and it's for a very good reason. I'll explain more at the end of the chapter, but if you think that all angel's are good little fairies, I've got one word for you: Zachariah. Biggest evil dickbag ever to walk the face of heaven.**

**Anyway, here's the next portion. Enjoy!**

* * *

The two angels and their vessels quckly fell into a routine in the week before their departure for Hogwarts. Isaac would wake up first, and would lie there for a few minutes to fully recover his senses. He would then wake up Azrael and Draco, who always would take the first bath (it was either let them have their way or throw a hissy fit) while Harry got their clothes ready. Then Harry would take a bath while Draco got dressed and ordered their breakfast. Harry would come out of the tub, get dressed and stand in front of the mirror while Isaac preened his iridescent feathers. Usually during this interval Draco would finish his meal.

Draco would then spend half an hour trying to convince Harry to eat more than he wanted, and by the time the week had passed, Harry had worked up to eating a little more than half of his breakfast. It wasn't much, but it was an improvement. After Harry finished eating, the two angels, and sometimes the vessels, would play a variety of games outside, ranging from exploring the maze to angel's and demon's. Draco introduced Harry to quiditch, which both the angels had come to love. Flying was where the angels excelled the most, as the air was their natural element.

They would spend the afternoon in the library, where Draco would tutor Harry in an attempt to build up his magical knowledge of both the wizarding world and its society. Afterwards, Harry would head to Draco's room, where he would typically be asleep when Azrael came back from the dinner with Draco's parents. Then Azrael would fall asleep cuddling Isaac. It was incredible how much the white winged angel could affect the angel of death, and soon bedtime became the black winged angel's favorite part of the day. Not that their relationship extended anywhere past cuddling. Their vessels were still far too young for _that_, anyway. Besides, neither angel had ever partaken in anything remotely resembling human reproduction in all their time in heaven, and were actually terrified of it. So it could wait.

On Monday, Azrael was actually the one who woke up first. Looking down, he admired the fine face of his oldest friend. The sunlight streaming in through the window danced off his white cheeks and highlighted has jaw line, making the boy below him practically glisten. Azrael ran a hand through the soft white feathers of his wings, drawing a half conscious smile from the angel as he reacted to the stimulus. Then, Azrael realized what the day was and quickly hopped out of bed and ran to his wardrobe, his golden eyes flashing white before fading to silver as he handed control back to Draco. He would need his vessel's knowledge on packing to know what to bring to Hogwarts.

The blond glanced back to the black haired boy still in bed. "Oi, lazy head! Wake up!" he called. The boy's eyelids lifted slowly to reveal a pair of shimmering blue eyes. As he observed what Draco was doing, his eyes widened and flashed white as well, before fading to green as Harry took the wheel. Jumping up, Harry grabbed his trunk and ran to his wardrobe, opened it and began throwing his clothes furiously into the flat bottomed case. Draco rolled his eyes at the smaller boy's impatience. "You're going to wrinkle all your outfits if you do that!" he called as he meticulously folded up his second favorite pair of pants. Harry scoffed at the cultured wizard's almost religious reverence of clothes.

"They're just pieces of stylized cloth, Draco. It won't hurt them to be a little wrinkled. And even if they are, I can always just have Isaac smooth them out for me," Harry called back. _'I'm not your butler you know!'_ Isaac said in his head, drawing a smile from Harry.

Eventually both boys had their trunks packed away, and with a flick of their wands the trunks were levitating behind them and floating down the hall. Draco had painstakingly taught Harry many useful spells, and had informed Harry that since his wand was so unique, it probably didn't have the trace on it. Not that the trace would work anyway, as the millennia old angels were throwing the spell way off. Instead of reading their ages as simply eleven year olds, the tracking spell was being hopelessly confused, and currently read both of them as five hundred years old.

Harry slipped into the shadows when they reached the main hall, not wanting to test the limits of his perception filter, while Draco strode right up to his parents. "Well, Draco, are you ready to go?" the older Malfoy asked. Draco nodded, but then put on a thoughtful expression and asked innocently, "I'm sorry father, but where exactly is the platform again? I seem to have forgotten," he looked hopefully at his father, who wrinkled his nose at his son's apparent slip of mind. Malfoy's should do better than forgetting the location of something as important as this. "The muggle train station of Kings Cross, Platform 9 and ¾. Do pay attention Draco, I don't appreciate having to repeat myself," the older Malfoy said before turning to one of the house elves with instructions. Draco looked into the shadows, where Harry nodded and his eyes flashed white before fading to blue. Isaac gazed meaningfully at Draco, before grabbing his hovering trunk and vanished with a flare of grace and feathers.

Luscius turned back around and once again held out a small black box in the center of his gloved hand, which Draco took a hold of after grabbing onto his trunks. He felt the familiar tug just behind his navel, and suddenly he and his father were spinning faster and faster until the world stopped abruptly. Draco lurched forward. _'Damn, portkey travel is trippy! It's nothing at all like flying with my grace,'_ Azrael exclaimed, his head reeling alongside Draco. '_By the heavenly father, if I ever see that black box again I'm going to grab a hold of this body and not stop running until there's at least a continent between me and it!'_ he exclaimed, only to be shushed by Draco, who was looking around the muggle station for a familiar mop of black hair.

Not finding it, he fell behind his father as he continued to look across the platforms. "Where is he?" he said quietly, wondering where in the world that little boy could have possibly messed up. "Where is who?" Luscius asked, having caught his son's mumbled words. Draco's silver eyes widened, before Azrael provided him with a quick excuse. There were perks to having two people in one head, and one of them was doubled thinking capacity. "Oh, I was just looking for Blaise. He said he would meet me here," said the Malfoy heir.

Luscius nodded before turning and continuing his long gate. "He is most likely waiting for you on the platform," he said. He frowned when his son continued to lag behind. "Come along Draco; don't dawdle!" he said sharply, and the blond haired put his head down and hurried to catch up to his father. Isaac would just have to manage on his own.

* * *

Isaac popped into existence on the steps leading up to the train station. He quickly gave control back to Harry, for the longer he remained in angel form outside of a magically protected area, the easier it would be for Michael's angels to find him. Green eyes peered up at the imposing station, marveling at the granite work and elaborate marble columns. '_Don't dawdle, Harry,'_ Isaac said, unknowingly mirroring the words of Luscius Malfoy inside the station. Harry nodded and grabbed his trunk, which had ceased levitating the moment they had landed. He lugged the heavy trunk up the steps, grumbling to himself about lazy angels and in-precise coordinates. '_Oh, grow up!_' Isaac said, rolling his eyes at Harry's continual complaining. "Can't do that very well when I have the child of heaven riding around inside me, can I Isaac. Like you said, the oldest I can hope for is fourteen!" Harry said, his eyes laughing at the angel's undisguised huff of annoyance.

After Harry finally managed to haul his incredibly heavy luggage up the stairs, Harry grabbed a trolley and placed his trunk on top, instantly relieved of his burden. '_There, that wasn't so hard now was it?'_ Isaac said with a smile, his laughter echoing around Harry's head. "Put a sock in it you. What's the point of having an angel if all you're going to do is crack jokes and laugh in my head all day?" Harry asked in annoyance as he leaned over the trolley, panting in exhaustion. _'I can think of several reasons,'_ Isaac said, before adding, _'But now is not the time to dwell on the past. Onward Harry, we have only twenty minutes to catch your train!'_ the angel cried, and Harry glanced up at one of the station clocks to confirm the angel's statement. The clock read 10:38, and the train left at exactly eleven o clock. Harry pushed his trolley forward and began to make his way to whatever platform nine and three quarter's was.

He eventually reached platform nine, and was glancing back and forth between the large glowing numbers of nine and ten. '_Bloody Malfoy! Couldn't he have given us anything more specific? Now how are we going to get on?'_ Isaac asked, frustrated at the lack of a solution. Harry nodded in agreement, but then perked his ears up when he heard a women calling out, "Come along, platform 9 and ¾ this way!"

_'Well that was convenient!'_ Isaac said happily, and Harry pushed his trolley towards the voice. Coming around a pillar, Harry froze as he was met with a strange sight. Milling about before him and pushing trolleys with trunks similar to his own was a small clan of about seven or eight red heads, with a woman standing in the middle trying to conduct them. "Percy, you first!" she called, and an older boy nodded and began pushing his cart towards a pillar. Both Harry and Isaac's jaws dropped as the teen simply walked straight through the barrier, followed a moment afterwards by two boys with identical expressions. '_Twins,'_ Isaac commented finally as they watched the two disappear from sight. '_Just like the Gemini back in heaven. Crafty little buggers those two were. Always giving Raphael a hard time. I think Gabriel had a bad influence on them,'_ he said, before being mentally slapped by Harry. The black haired boy pushed his trolley forward and called out, "Excuse me!"

The woman looked up from her many offspring to regard the boy who was making his way towards her. "I'm sorry," Harry said as he got closer. "I just wanted to know how to…" he trailed off, a little nervous at meeting a new person. "How to get onto the platform, dearie?" the woman asked, and smiled as Harry bobbed his head. "Don't worry, it's Ron's first time as well!" she exclaimed, and Harry looked to her left to see a red haired boy about his age give him a small wave. Turning back to Harry, the woman continued. "Well, what you want to do is walk straight at the wall between platforms nine and ten," she gestured to the appropriate column. "Best give it a run if your nervous," she said softly, and Harry nodded before moving into position.

He gulped as he stared at the seemingly solid brick wall, before grabbing onto the handlebars of his trolley. '_Dear Father, please let this work,'_ he heard Isaac pray in his head, before he began to run at the wall. Right when he thought he was going to plaster himself against it, he felt a whooshing sensation and suddenly he was on another platform, facing a scarlet red train. Harry's laughter rang out across the station, accompanied by Isaac's childish giggles that seemed to bounce around playfully, although only Harry could hear those. Moving forward, he managed to just avoid Ron as he came running through behind him. "Bit of a rush, isn't it?" asked the red haired boy, and Harry nodded good naturedly. Together, they walked up to the train and put their trunks into the holding compartments.

After stepping onto the train, Ron led Harry to an empty compartment, where they sat across from each other and waited for the train to depart. Harry actually wanted to go try and find Draco, but he didn't want to be rude and make the red haired boy angry. Years of conditioning at the Dursley's had trained him to just shut up and go with the flow, and so the eleven year old sat placidly across from Ron, absentmindedly doodling on the window. The train gave a lurch as the brakes were disengaged, and a chugging could be heard. The train slowly started to move forward, and soon was out of the station and rumbling along the tracks at a fast clip, and the scenery began to blur by.

"So what's your name?" Ron finally asked, curious about the boy sitting across from him. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter," Harry said, looking out the window in fascination as a cow whizzed by the view. They were on the outskirts of London, and were just entering the agricultural district. "Are you really?" Ron asked, his mouth hanging open as he regarded one of his childhood icons. "Do you have the, you know..?" he trailed off.

Harry turned to look at him, his vivid green eyes flashing in the sunlight that streamed through the window onto his face. "The what?" he asked, perplexed by the open ended question. "The scar," Ron said quietly, and Harry tilted his head to the side in answer. His crazy black locks shifted to the side, revealing the iconic lightning bolt. "Wicked…" Ron breathed, his blue eyes widening in awe.

Ron couldn't believe that he was sitting across from one of the most famous wizards of all time. He had grown up hearing stories about how the boy had defeated the darkest wizard of all time when he was just a baby, and was shocked to find that he was actually a good four inches taller than the boy-who-lived. Little did he know that he was also sitting across from one heaven's most infamous children.

The compartment door swung open to reveal an annoyed Draco Malfoy. "Harry!" he exclaimed, ignoring Ron's gaping expression. "There you are! Where the hell were you, I've been looking everywhere for you? Why didn't you meet me in the station?" the blond cried, and Azrael sent his grace out to stroke that of Isaac's, to which the white-winged angel purred in response. Harry smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I had a rough and misguided landing. Plus, your bogus instructions didn't help one bit!" said Harry, shooting an accusatory look at Draco. The young aristocrat nodded, and moved to step into the compartment, but froze when the red-head got over his shock and spoke his first words to the blond.

"Stay out of our compartment, Malfoy!" the red-head suddenly growled, and Harry shot him a highly confused look. "Excuse me?" Draco asked, shifting to look incredulously at the boy who had just had the audacity to speak to him so rudely. _'Be polite!'_ Azrael screamed at him, and Draco had to count to five before responding. "I don't know what I've done to offend you, but I would appreciate it if you didn't talk to me so harshly again. I'm Draco Malfoy, and you are?" he asked, already knowing very well who the red head was, or at least who his family was based on appearance alone. "Ron Weasley," he said, and Draco's suspicions were confirmed.

"It's alright, Ron," Harry said, and the boy's blue eyes were drawn back to green. "He's a friend of mine, and he's alright," Harry said slowly and quietly. Draco recognized the words for what they were though, and felt the calming magic oozing from the voice. During his time at the Drusleys, Harry had developed a defense mechanism where his voice could actually soothe his angry relatives, at least to a certain degree, and as he a result he was still alive and mostly intact. Draco smirked as he saw the red headed boy relax, and he slowly stepped into the compartment and shut the door behind him.

Sitting down next to Harry, Draco asked the black haired boy to relate to him the entire series of events, starting from his landing at the base of the stairs. He listened as Harry told an animated story of his trek through the muggle station, and allowed Harry's words to soothe him. Eventually the three nodded off, and the compartment was still and quiet.

* * *

All three were jolted awake by the train coming to a halt, and Draco realized that he and Harry had yet to change into their school robes. They quickly rushed to the bathroom, which were magically enlarged so as to hold a full row of stalls and sinks, and hurriedly changed into their uniforms. Stepping back out into the now crowded hallway, Draco latched his fingers onto Harry and held him in a death grip, afraid that if he let go even for a moment then the small boy would be swept away by the bustling crowd. Stepping off the train, they were directed by a giant of a man over to some boats. Harry and Draco were joined by a dark haired African-Italian with olive colored skin who introduced himself as Blaise. Draco hugged his childhood friend, pleased to finally see him. They also had another small boy join them, a quiet, shy boy who was clutching a book to his chest and shaking. He introduced himself as Neville Longbottom, and Harry decided to sit next to him and cheer him up.

All four boys looked down in amazement as the small boat they were in began to move forward and out into the middle of the small harbor, where they joined the rest of the small boats. As they rounded the bend of their little harbor, four pairs of eyes widened as the castle came into view, situated on a high cliff, shimmering with torchlight and looking positively enchanting. After crossing the lake, the boats docked at a small pier that extended out from the shoreline before the assembled first years made their way up the winding path to the massive double oak doors, which opened noiselessly, a testament to both the engineering and the magic laced within the carving. Walking up a set of marble stairs, the first years halted and were instructed to wait until a teacher came to fetch them.

The young students got the shock of their lives when shimmering, transparent ghosts came swooping out of the walls on the left hand side of the wall. They stopped, floating twenty feet in the air and looked down on the first years. Draco smiled, and his eyes flashed white before fading to golden. Azrael gazed up at the ghosts, and flared his pure black wings.

One look at the angel of death had the ghosts screaming in terror and swooping back through the halls, terrified that they would be reaped by the angel. Azrael's bell like laughter rang across the hall, drawing the looks of several students. Harry just rolled his eyes, and Azrael's eyes flashed white once again, and silver replaced gold. He turned his smile on Harry, who just shook his head. '_Did you see the way they ran? The empty headed idiots left without even saying a proper hello! TAKE THAT YOU FLOATING SODS!'_ Azrael cried, but was shushed by Draco as a lady in green appeared before them.

"I am professor McGonagall," the lady said, as she addressed the amassed students. She then proceeded to tell them about the four houses and rules of the castle. After that, she led the first years into the great hall, where the rest of the students watched as they went up in between them.

The professor stopped them before the head table, where all the teachers sat looking at the first years. "Before we begin the sorting, Professor Dumbledore has a few announcements to make."

Sitting up, a very old man with a long white flowing beard cleared his throat, "I would like to say a few words. Firstly, to our first years, the Dark Forest is strictly out of bounds. Also, our caretaker Argus Filch has asked me to remind you all that the third floor on the right side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a most painful death." A pale and a dark eyebrow raised at this, and Draco and Harry both exchanged a glance before making an unspoken agreement to explore that area later. Standing up straight, McGonagall pulled out a list of names. "Abbot, Hannah" she called. The girl in question slowly made her way up to the stool where she then sat down and waited as a large, scruffy hat was placed on her head. The hat seemed to come to life, moving about before announcing loudly, "HUFFLEPUFF!" The table to the immediate left of the first years erupted into cheers as the girl made her way over to them.

Isaac and Azrael both shifted inside their vessels, curious as to what they had just seen. Harry and Draco's eyes both flashed white before fading to blue and gold. Leaning sideways, Azrael whispered in Isaac's ear. "Did you feel that?" he asked, and Isaac nodded. "A flash of grace. That's no ordinary magic hat," he whispered back, and shuddered again as he again felt a flash of grace flood through the hall as the hat sent a boy scurrying to the Ravenclaw table. "Malfoy, Draco!" McGonagall called, and Azrael's eyes flashed white as he shifted back to Draco. Stepping forward, Draco paused at the base of the dais and looked at Harry, who shrugged his shoulders and made a shooing gesture, telling the blond to get a move on.

Draco's vision was obscured as the hat fell on his head, and he felt a finger of grace tickle his mind. Draco's eyes flashed white once again, brightening the inside of the hat as Azrael scrambled back into control, and when his eyes faded to gold the angel of death grabbed on to the familiar feeling grace.

_'Azrael?'_ asked a shocked voice in his head. A voice that the black winged angel recognized instantly. "Matthew?" he whispered aloud, barely able to believe that he was feeling the proper angel's grace. But there was no denying it, he had felt this grace far too many times before to be mistaken.

There was silence for a few moments as the hat and angel regarded each other in shock. A multitude of question's ran through Azrael's mind, including 'what the heck happened to you?' and 'Why are you a hat?'

But the angel of death chose to enunciate the most pressing of all of them. "How in the **_hell_** are you still alive?"

* * *

**Ohhhhh, I'm so evil aren't I?**

**Alright, I promised to give you a better explanation of Alcasan, so here it is. If you think Zachariah was a bad, bad angel, well, keep in mind that he is a seraph. The Siam Dot aren't called the most brutal angel's in heaven for nothing, as they see anything that impedes the success-fullness of their hunt as a threat and will promptly rip it apart. This goes double for Alcasan, who is proclaimed to be the most brutal of heaven's hunter class. The Siam Dot were built to hunt down and defeat rogue angels, and thus will pursue their targets with a single mindedness that is borderline obsessive, and at times are stupidly fixated on them. Thus, given an angel of this build, Alcasan's actions aren't that unbelievable.**

**Also, eventually I will have Matthew leave the hat and take on a vessel. I will be starting a poll on which of the three characters you guys want him to have as a vessel. Visit my profile and vote, but know that it won't happen till a lot further in the series, fourth year at the earliest.**

**So, anyway, that's the last chapter I'm doing for tonight, so I will leave you with my usual goodbye:**

**Rate and REVIEW! Ta-ta!- **Arudon


	8. Archangel

**Hello one and all. I have returned with another installment of this story! Suspicious lack of commentary on my previous two chapters, and I'm beginning to think y'all are losing interest. **

**I'm just kidding! Enjoy!**

* * *

The Sorting Hat was mortified. Its worst fears had come true. His brother's had finally found him! And of course it had to be the only one that could possibly reap him. Naturally.

_'Well, you found me. Guess now you know that I didn't die on the battlefield like you thought I did. Granted, I did come close, but it takes a lot more than just a knight of hell to kill an archangel. They destroyed my vessel and part of my grace, sure, but I managed to latch myself onto this hat. I've been here for a thousand years doing this job, and it'll be a shame to quit now. But I suppose I have no other choice, so go ahead and do it,'_ Matthew finished, and he braced himself to be smited.

'_I'm not going to smite you!'_ Azrael cried, projecting his thoughts through his grace. _'I have no more jurisdiction here than you do, and I can no more smite you than I can smite myself. How is it that you came to be the sorting hat?'_ the angel of death asked, wanting to hear exactly how the archangel had survived the brutal battle in which had supposedly fallen.

Matthew had walked the earth as one of heaven's archangels. He was the middle child, born after Michael and Lucifer but before Raphael and Gabriel. He tended to be forgotten, but proved to be god's most faithful soldier as he stood by his side when he walked the earth as Jesus Christ. He had been the one who had severed a roman's ear when they had tried to take his Father into custody, but the savior had healed the human and gone with them willingly. Matthew had supposedly fallen at the battle of Nym Doch, slain by Leraje and Valefar. That was obviously not the case.

_'Like I said, my vessel was destroyed but my grace wasn't. I sacrificed a good portion of it in an effort to make it look like I had died. I was sick of Michael's meddling, and wanted to be free of heaven. So I descended from the fortress disguised as a stray discharge, and eventually found a hermit mage trying to enchant his hat. I wove myself into the fabric, and became the first talking hat. I of course kept my real identity hidden, and hid from our brothers. This was made much easier than expected thanks to the reclusive nature of the mages. _

_'As the years passed, I was transferred from one position to another, always taking on the role of advisor and counselor. Eventually, I found my way into the hands of a certain Godric Gryffindor. I had hidden my angel blade deep within the folds of the enchantments holding this hat together, and I presented it to Godric when he most needed it. It had a glamour on it, and appeared larger and longer than it actually was, but he still claimed the sword as his own and used it to slay many fowl creatures. He was joined by three others, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. I think he and Salazar had a thing for each other at one point._' If hats could blush, the sorting hat would certainly be doing that after he let that sentence slip out.

_'Er… anyway, together these four founded Hogwarts about a thousand years ago, like I mentioned before, and I was set up as a decider on where to sort the young students. And I have been here ever since. So that is my story, now let me hear yours. You claim to have no jurisdiction? Explain yourself to me,'_ the archangel disguised as a hat demanded. Azrael nodded, and related to Matthew the plan that Michael had concocted to free Lucifer from the pit at half power using Isaac's grace, and then when they could not catch him Azrael's own grace. The angel of death described how he had fled heaven, and related his revelations on how his other father, Death, had been released. _'So that's it. And now Isaac and I are here with our vessels, both mages, and need to be sorted into houses, whatever those are.'_

Matthew nodded, digesting Azrael's story. _'So Zachariah's still at it, eh? If I ever see that meddling seraph I'll tear his head off. And Michael's ears off for listening to him. Now, about the houses, think of this school as heaven. The four houses are divided like garrisons, with a head boy and head girl acting as seraphs, and four prefects for each house acting as secondary officers. Ravenclaw is for those who are wise, but don't really get their hands dirty. Hufflepuff is for the everyday wizard, who have nothing special about them. That leaves Slytherin, the house of cunning, and Gryffindor, the house of bravery. If your vessel is at all like you in any way, Azrael, then he is definitely a Slytherin. I can remember clearly all the clever plots and pranks you pulled back in heaven, and some of them were actually fairly cruel. I think you gave Gabriel a run for his money at one point.'_ Matthew chuckled at the fond memories.

'_Yes, definitely,'_ "SLYTHERIN!" he shouted out loud, and the table on the far right of the hall erupted into applause. Azrael took off the hat and handed it back to McGonagall. His eyes flashed white and faded to silver as Draco took over, and he trotted down and sat next to Blaise, who had also gotten into Slytherin with him.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called, and the small boy walked slowly up to the dais, while the entire hall quieted. Draco watched as the hat came to life and starting morphing through several facial expressions. He could only imagine the annoyance the hat must be experiencing as he explained himself all over again to the other angel. He saw the hat/archangel's face contort in horror, and realized that he must have discovered Harry's cruel past. Eventually, the hat put on a stoic expression and called loudly, "GRYFFINDOR!" and the table on the far left hand side of the hall, the one farthest from the Slytherins, erupted into applause. Cries of 'We Got Potter! We Got Potter!' echoed around the hall, and the blushing first year scampered over to them, where he sat by the red headed boy from the train.

Draco felt a stab of jealousy flash through him as he saw Ron throw and arm around Harry's shoulders. This was echoed by a low rumbling coming from Azrael, who glared at the boy who was daring to put his hands on _his_ angel. Suddenly, Azrael snapped his head up to the head table, and across the hall Harry did the same. Both boys' eyes flashed white as their angels took over, and they both inhaled deeply, trying to catch a whiff of the demonic energy they had both just felt. Isaac's grace stretched across the hall, making contact with both Azrael's and Matthew's. _'Did you feel that?'_ he asked, and both angels passed along their affirmatives to the child of heaven. Isaac was puzzled by this, as he could not locate it again, even with his grace extending over the entire hall.

This grace seemed to have an interesting effect on everyone around the small boy, and the Gryffindors felt as if their hearts were being lightened just by being in proximity to the boy-who-lived. Eventually Isaac recalled his grace and his eyes flashed white once more, before fading to green. Harry looked to find himself wrapped in a tight embrace by two cheering Gryffindors, and had a momentary panic attack as he felt his lungs being crushed. They eventually released him as the side effects wore off, and the table went back to eating like normal.

The ghosts tried to make another appearance, but were once again scared off by some unknown force and all migrated to the Gryffindor side of the hall, much to the horror of the lions. Isaac flared his grace, and the ghosts, upon feeling another angel's grace, decided it wasn't worth it and fled the hall altogether, whispering about vacating the castle. One ghost in particular, a certain poltergeist named Peeves, seriously doubted he could live through the year with two angels on the prowl, especially if one of them was the angel of death. He decided to move up to the astronomy tower, and avoid the mass of students as much as possible until the menace had vacated the premises.

* * *

After the feast was concluded, the head boys and girls stood up and led their houses out of the Great Hall and to their dormitories. Harry got up and ran to the middle of the Hall, where he met Draco just below the dais. They regarded each other for a moment, just looking at each other. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then," Harry finally said, and Draco nodded. He was going to miss Harry for the night, and he was having to fight against Azrael, who wanted nothing more than to lurch forward, grab onto Harry, and never let go. Draco compromised with the angel, and he pulled the black haired boy into a warm hug that lasted for several moments. "I'll see you in the morning, my angel," Draco whispered in Harry's ear, and the boy nodded. Draco let go and turned around, racing after the rapidly retreating Slytherins.

He joined up with his housemates, many of whom had witnessed his goodbye to Harry and were staring at him in open mouthed shock. "Did he just hug a Gryffindor?" whispered one of them, and several students nodded in dumb confusion. Draco gave them no mind and caught up to Blaise, who was walking at a slow pace near the back of the line. "What the heck was that?" Blaise whispered through gritted teeth, his chocolate brown eyes flashing with disbelief. He was having trouble wrapping his head around what he had just seen the blond wizard do. "What was what?" Draco asked innocently, examining his manicured nails as he walked.

Blaise shook his head. "Look, Draco. I know you may have been friends with him before coming here, but he's in Gryffindor and you're in Slytherin. He's the enemy now, understand?" Blaise asked, trying to get his point through the thick blond plating that seemed to be Draco's hair. He didn't catch the momentary flash of white coming from Draco's eyes, but he did notice the smoldering golden ones as they got right in his face. "Listen well, Blaise." Draco said, golden eyes flashing. Unseen by the African-Italian, Azrael's black wings flared out behind him in anger. "I don't care about whatever the inter-house rivalry is here. I'm not going to sacrifice my friendship with him because you stupid humans hold a grudge against each other. I don't buy into that crap!" Azrael growled, and then swung around to push ahead of the startled and confused boy.

Blaise's head was orbiting around several words Draco had said. 'You stupid humans? What does he mean by that?' the dark haired boy thought, before shaking his head and calling out, "Hey Draco, wait up."

Harry was having similar problems with several of his new Gryffindor housemates. They were appalled that their celebrity, the golden boy, the champion of the light, had hugged a slimy no-good Slytherin. However, instead of lashing out like Azrael and Draco had, he instead enacted his basic defense mechanism, soothing the angry crowd with his soft voice and explanations. Eventually, the hard scowls melted, and Harry received many pats on the back and head rubs, which only served to make his hair even wilder.

Harry, however, didn't care too much about his outward appearance, as his thoughts were directed inwards, locked in conversation with a white winged angel. '_I'm telling you, I didn't make a mistake. That was demonic energy I felt, just for a moment, coming from the staff table. It felt different from the dark magic that was emanating from that greasy black haired goon. He was staring at you the whole time, Harry, I didn't like it!' _Isaac said, worried for his vessel's safety. 'Don't worry about me, Isaac' Harry responded, sending his thoughts directly to the angel. 'Tell me how you know it was demonic.'

Isaac shifted, and Harry felt his wings flutter. '_It felt darker, like my grace was being trod upon. It was almost as if it were reaching out and trying to corrupt everything around it, like a massive black hole. And what's worse, I recognize its owner,' _Isaac finished. Harry waited for the angel to respond, and eventually grew impatient. 'And? Who is it?' he asked.

Isaac seemed to curl in on himself, obviously suppressing some terrible emotions. _'I would know that energy signature anywhere. I felt it for seven long years when I was that demon's prisoner.'_ Harry's eyes widened, shocked that anyone could have taken an angel hostage. '_During the war against the knights of hell, Heaven was invaded by their armies. Many died in the battle, and many were taken prisoner. I was one of those who were captured. One knight of hell in particular took an interest in me, and for seven years I was his personal prisoner. His plaything, his sole victim. He took perverse pleasure in making me feel pain and attempting to corrupt me. He seemed to be experimenting new methods of torture on me, and everyday it would be something new and worse. It was Matthew who finally rescued me. I will never forget the feel of that demon's wrath. That's what it's called Harry, the demonic equivalent of grace: Wrath.'_

Harry shuddered, and despite Isaac's attempts, some of his memories and feelings flowed across their bonds, and Harry's jaw dropped. He saw Isaac stretched out on a rack, beaten and bloody, while a demon was burning his wing feathers. He felt the pain as the angel's grace was smashed, ripped, and torn, and the hopelessness Isaac must have finally felt. He heard Isaac's screams as his body was torn into, and the accompanying laughter of the demon. _'I told you I had personal history with this particular demon, Harry'_ Isaac said, halting the flow of memories.

Harry's eyes widened even further and his pupils dilated. 'But that was when you were talking about Voldemort. You mean the demon that was at the head table is…' he trailed off, disbelief and shock written across his face. _'Valefar,'_ Isaac said softly, and Harry felt his angel shudder as he pronounced the name. Harry soothed Isaac's grace with his own magic, and eventually the angel uncurled from his ball and buried the memories.

Harry glanced up and found he was facing a hole in the wall through which the rest of his housemates were passing through. He waled forward, ducking his head to avoid the low hanging arch, and entered the portal, just in time to catch the last of Percy's speech. He followed the rest of the Gryffindor boys up the stairs to their common room, and Harry passed out as soon as he hit the canopied bed, exhausted from the day's journey and the emotional upheaval he had gone through. He missed the feeling of Azrael/Draco on top of him, but made do with wrapping the comforter tightly around his body. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, and his dream's were a mix of excitement for the day's to come, and horror at the atrocities done to the angel by the demon. Harry shuddered in his sleep, and the moon passed slowly over head.

* * *

Deep below him, Draco was stewing on similar thoughts. The angel of death was having a very hard time sleeping when he didn't know exactly where the child of heaven was, and if Azrael couldn't sleep, then he invariably woke Draco up when his internal musings grew too loud. Finally, Draco sat up in bed and hissed, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Azrael, get a grip. We're away from him for only one night and you're already loosing it!"

'_Swear on anything you like, but I won't shut up for anything's sake, least of all heaven's! Do you realize how messed up that place is now?'_ he asked Draco, thinking back to the last time he had seen the bright place. Michael had turned it from the kingdom of god into his own personal dominion, with a military rule so tight that one could hardly even walk the streets with a smile on his face. Azrael found life on earth so much more relaxing and carefree, especially now that he had found Isaac.

Draco shivered in the cold dungeon air. "I wish Matthew had told us that the Slytherin common rooms were in the dungeon. Then we might have had more say in it!" Draco said as he shivered again. Azrael expanded his grace and enveloped his vessel in a pocket of warm, dry air. Draco relaxed as the grace seemed to carress his skin, raising his spirits and soothing his troubled thoughts._ 'I concur with you. I too find life in the dungeons to be quite dreary. Even in heaven, we always had a view of the sun or the moon. We were much closer to the sky than down here. The archangel seemed to have forgotten that, but then again, what would you expect from a ruffled old hat?'_ Azrael chuckled, and Draco smiled along with him. He glanced down at his bed, imagining a rise and fall of another human body.

"I know how you feel. I miss Harry too, but I think the old hat got us right. You definitely are the craftiest angel I could possibly imagine. What did Matthew mean when he said you gave Gabriel a run for his money?" Draco asked the angel of death.

Azrael sighed and shifted his midnight black wings. '_Gabriel was the youngest of the archangels, and possibly the funniest of them all. Raphael was too stiff, Michael was the oldest, and Lucifer was too pure to have very much fun with. Matthew was the loosest of the angels, and it was he who usually looked after Gabriel. But oh, was Gabriel a crafty prankster! At one time, he actually managed to tie a bunch of little ribbons onto Raphael's wings without him noticing, and when he spread them, the ribbons crisscrossed to read_ 'I AM ALONE AND CRANKY. HUG ME'!' Azrael and Draco both cracked up laughing, and Draco fell back onto the bed, his worries abated.

Azrael looked up through Draco's eyes at the canopy of the bed. _'Sometime's I really miss the way it was. I miss Lucifer's smile and Gabriel's inappropriate jokes. I miss Matthew's calmness and Michael's singing. Hell, I even miss the way Raphael would sometimes open up and be a living being for once, instead of the cold dead husk he's become. I miss playing with Isaac, and the looks I would get from the other angels. But most of all, I miss my father, Draco. Sure, I have two of them, but Death has never really been a real Father to me. I miss God. I miss how whenever he was around, everyone would smile and just for that moment, everything was right in the world.'_

Draco nodded and felt angel of death's sadness. "He'll come back one day, Azrael. Don't worry," he reassured the angel. Azrael nodded and fell into a trance within Draco. Slowly, he began to hum one of the lullabies that his father used to sing to him. The melody was calming, and the refrain repetitive, and soon, both human and angel had drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The police station was almost completely in ruins. The angels had been very thorough, and any information that could be gathered about the case had been done so with a vigor that would have put even the most avid workaholics to shame. Alcasan glanced up as one of his angels, Samir, ran up to him holding an envelope in the air. "Brother, we found something we think might be useful," the young angel said, before handing him the envelope. Alcasan ripped it open and pulled it out. It was a census taken three years ago by the local government in an experiment to monitor city growth.

Alcasan scrolled down to what could have caught the angel's attention, and found, under the residents of Number Four Privet Drive, not three names, but four. "Harry Potter," he murmured, before grabbing a computer and flicking it on. While he was waiting for it to boot up, he called out, "Does anyone know how to work these things?" One of the angels, a woman, stepped forward and nodded.

She sat down before the computer screen and opened a browser when it was done with its initial load up. "What do you want me to look for, sir?" she asked, hands poised over the keyboard. "Search for elementary schools within a 2 mile radius of Privet Drive," Alcasan said, leaning over and staring at the screen in anticipation as he watched the she-angel type in the search. "Found three results, sir. Bryce Elementary, Kline School for Gifted, and Torchstone elementary. All three are within a two mile radius of the target's house." Alcasan nodded, before giving further instructions.

"Go to each school page and look for class pictures from three years ago," he said, and the woman nodded. She clicked on the first school, and typed in her query in the search bar. Soon she was scrolling through pictures of smiling human children, but she could not find a picture of their target or anyone going by the name 'Potter.' She expanded her search to the second school on the grid, and this time jumped straight to the P's.

"Pennyworth, Pillman, Potter. Here sir, here, I have a one Harry J. Potter, graduated three years ago but was never seen after that. Here's a picture," she clicked on the link, and an image popped of kid with horn-rim glasses covering green eyes and messy black hair. Alcasan held up his sketch of the quarry, and nodded. Apart from the glasses, it was a perfect fit.

"Alright, we have our target. We're looking for a human named Harry Potter. He is the vessel of Isaac, and we are to hunt him down!" Alcasan called, and all the angels nodded. All except one. The woman who was sitting at the computer closed the browser and slowly stood up, her dark eyes meeting the brown ones of Alcasan. "I'm sorry sir, but I can't continue to do this. I signed up to bring down a rogue angel, not chase after children," she said, shivering when she caught a glint of some unknown emotion in the seething brown eyes.

"Oh, and what are you going to do about it?" Alcasan asked. "I say you follow me, and to do as I say. And I say we're going to be hunting a child, so that's what we're going to do! Understand?" he asked, leaning closer to the woman.

The she-angel backed away, growing uncomfortable with each passing second. "No, I don't understand. It's just wrong to chase after an innocent child. We're not supposed to be destroyers; we're supposed to be sheppard's! How could you have forgotten that?" she cried, putting even more distance between herself and the now menacing angel. "I won't do it sir. I'm sorry, but I won't."

Alcasan looked at her for a moment, before lowering his eyes and shaking his head. "Then I'm sorry too, Rebecca," he said, before snapping his angel blade and swiping at the woman's head.

Rebecca seemed to have been anticipating the blow, and she moved to the side, narrowly missing the lightning fast strike. Flexing her wrist, her own angel blade slid into her hand, and she swung her fist up, drawing Alcasan's guard with it and exposing his lower body.

She thrust her blade towards his unprotected midriff, only to have a descending arm block he strike. She staggered as one of his gray wings smacked her in the side, and she went spinning.

She screamed as she felt a blade pierce side, and clutching her now wounded ribs, pushed herself against a wall. She stared as the brown haired angel stalked towards her, tossing his angle blade from hand to hand and a wicked smile on his face. "Please, stop this Alcasan. You're letting your obsession blind your better judgment!" she cried, and ducked when he snapped his angel blade at her head. Rolling, she came up on her feet a few feet away from the enraged hunter, and swung her blade at his exposed back.

She watched in horror as his wing snapped out and slapped the blade from her hand. Suddenly, she was pinned against a wall and staring into cold brown eyes. "Please, Alcasan, stop!" she begged, but the Siam Dot merely shook his head, a smile still plastered to his face. "Actually, Rebecca, your death will serve more than just an example of what happens to angels who defy me. See, I'm going to be going up against a very powerful angel. I'll need all the grace I can get. And since you won't be needing yours…" he slashed his blade across Rebecca's throat, exposing a glowing white line pulsing beneath her skin.

"I'll be taking it!" he cried, and opened his mouth while the white glowing grace flowed from Rebecca's beck and down his throat. Smiling at her whenhe had consumed every last drop of it, he pressed his palm against her now very human forehead and flared his newly acquired Grace. Rebecca screamed as her eyes exploded, and she slumped to the floor, blood dribbling from her mouth.

Alcasan rolled his shoulders before turning to look at his wide-eyed minions. "Well, what are you standing around for? Get out there and find me an angel! Go! Go!" he cried, and all the angels quickly began disappearing with flaps of their wings and grace.

Alcasan smiled, rolling around in his now doubled grace, while far away a pair of angels shuddered in their sleep. Up in the headmaster's office, an old grungy hat shook its head, visions of what had just occurred filtering in to the archangel.

Far away, God shook his head once more at the actions of Alcasan. "You bring this upon yourself," he said quietly, and turning around he walked off, back to wherever he came from.

* * *

**Well, thanks for all your support. I'll be off brewing up another chapter soon.**

**Don't forget to visit my profile and catch the poll for Matthew. I'm counting on you guys.**

**Rate and Review! Ta-ta!-** Arudon


	9. Cornered and Afraid

**Hey, sorry about the late update. School is starting up, and inspiration didn't really hit me until late yesterday. By the way:**

**YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYY! I BROKE 40,000 WORDS! (*does a happy dance*)**

**So here's the next chapter, enjoy.**

* * *

With a chorus of fanfare, the sun broke over the horizon on the castle of Hogwarts. Climbing with vivacious voracity, the sun rapidly reclaimed its domain high in the sky. For a certain angel, the sunlight served as an unofficial alarm clock, and heavy eyelids slowly lifted to reveal a pair of deeply glowing sapphires. Sitting up, Isaac stretched his pure white wings and yawned fully, his mouth stretching to its widest possible point. The angel looked around the room, his smile widening, and he jumped off his bed with a little hop-skip. Grabbing his school robes, he dashed into the bathroom.

His eyes flashed white before fading back to green as Harry continued his morning wakeup. Shaking his head, he smiled as he heard Isaac begin to whistle, "Good Morning, To You" inside his head. Stripping off his clothes, Harry stepped into the showers and turned the stream to its warmest setting. He relaxed as the hot water cascaded over his pale form, soothing out his muscles from their long day of travel yesterday. _'Well, today is a big day, Harry. First classes, first impressions. So go out there with a smile on your face and make me proud!'_ the angel said spritely, dancing around Harry's magical core.

"You're awfully chipper this morning," Harry remarked as he flicked the angel away from his sensitive magic. He shuddered as he felt the angel's grace wash over him, caressing him in ways no ordinary human could understand. '_I'm only trying to help you,' _Isaac said._ 'And why shouldn't I be happy? I just found out that one of my favorite brothers is still alive!'_ he cried, images flashing through both Harry's and Isaac's mind of he and Azrael running after the silver winged archangel while he dangled a ball behind him. "What's that Matthew's holding?" Harry asked, intrigued by the flashing multicolored orb.

_'Oh, it's just a rufiel ball. It's a much more complicated game that we angels play in heaven, and I really don't think you would be able to understand the exact complexities of it. It took me two years just to learn the basics, and there are over one hundred and seventy rules in the game,_' the angel said. Harry nodded as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. He honestly didn't understand half the things that went on in heaven, and Isaac wasn't very helpful in explaining. And his excuse, every single time, was 'I'm just a child. I wouldn't know about those things!' It made Harry honestly wonder what the angel did for most of his life before Michael decided to screw it all up.

Shutting off the water, Harry stepped out of the shower and grabbed his towel. He proceeded to dry himself thoroughly, the magical properties of the towel absorbing all the water and leaving him completely dry. Stepping over to the mirror, his eyes flashed white and faded to blue, and Isaac took the time while Harry was undressed to preen his snow white feathers. He really missed the mirror back in the Malfoy Manor, and he was going to have to remember to ask Azrael sometime about the enchantment he had used.

Satisfied with his appearance, he handed control back to Harry, who began to dress himself. He was a little confused on how to do the tie, but it seemed to be magically spelled to help the student put it on, and for the most part tied itself. When he was finally dressed, he smiled at himself in the mirror before stepping outside. He paused in the doorway and rolled his eyes. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, but still he was the only one up.

A rogue smile appeared on his face as the white winged angel whispered a naughty idea in his mind, and Harry bent down and picked up a stray metal plate that someone had left lying around. Banging it against the wall, he shouted at the top of his lungs: "Good morning, Vietnam!"

He got mixed results.

Dean Thomas, whom Harry had met briefly last night before going to bed, sat bolt upright screaming, his eyes wide in terror. The Irish one, Seamus Finnegan, also awoke with a start and rolled out entirely. Neville, the quiet boy whom Harry had sat with on the boat, buried his body under the covers while Ron responded with a snort and a murmured, "Bloody hell."

As his grumbling dorm mates picked themselves up from their various positions, Harry went over to his bed and began to pile his things into his book bag, which had been magically enchanted so as to be both bigger on the inside and weightless. It still fell faster than without anything in it though, and both Harry and Isaac were still confused about the physics behind the spell, but instead of rocking the boat, they had just decided to roll with it. After everything was set, he exited the dorm room, headed down through the commons, went out the portal and set off for breakfast. And through it all he had a huge smile plastered on his face.

* * *

Azrael wished that he had had as good a morning as his counterpart. The dungeons here were cold! Especially in this fall weather. The angel of death had had to flare his grace for a good five minutes before it had been warm enough to slide his bare form out of bed comfortably. It also didn't help that he was missing his own personal heater, which had been placed in an entirely different house. Tack on the fact that Draco was not what you would call an early riser, and it made for one grumpy angel/vessel pair at the breakfast table. It was seven o clock, and breakfast was supposed to technically start now, but since it was the first day of school, most of the students had decided to sleep in.

Thus, it was to a nearly empty hall that Draco perked his head up to when he felt a particularly pleasant rush of grace rush through the grand entrance. Looking up, he spied his wayward heater walking into the hall. He saw Harry smile as he laid eyes on Draco's lone form at the Slytherin table. Glancing around, Harry noted the maybe four or five students that were milling around the great hall, and moved over to the blond. He sat down across from him, his green eyes smiling. "How was your sleep?" he asked, grabbing a biscuit from a bowl in front of him. Draco raised a pale eyebrow at the uncommon move. Harry taking food on his own? What was going on?

"Miserable," he said, his gloomy voice putting a damper on the Gryffindor across from him. "I missed you," he said softly, and Harry nodded at that sentiment. His eyes flashed white, as did Draco's, and both faded to blue and gold as the angel's exchanged their greetings. "Can you believe it?" Azrael asked. "Matthew's still alive! Our favorite archangel is here at Hogwarts! Oh, this one is worthy of Gabriel," he said, a smile blooming across his face. Isaac nodded, before leaning forward and saying in a low voice, "I also found out who that demonic energy belongs to."

Azrael's eyes widened, and he leaned forward as well. "Who?" he asked.

"Valefar," Isaac said softly, and Azrael saw his wings contract a little at the mention of the demon's name, as if to fend off an attack. The angel of death's hot and cold grace flared in anger at the memories of what that particular demon had done to Isaac, and it took a moment of soothing from Draco to calm the angel down. His golden eyes blazing, Azrael looked dead on into the blue ones of his friend. "Which teacher was it? Who is he possessing?" he asked, his black wings shuffling in anticipation.

Isaac shook his head. "I don't know. It was only for a moment, and there was not enough of it to trace. But if Valefar is here, then that means that Tom Riddle, or Voldemort, has also managed to get into the castle. Which means that Harry is in danger." Isaac raised his hand as Azrael moved to stand up. "Wait, there's more. While we may not know which teacher he is possessing, we can certainly find out. Pay close attention in all your classes today, and make sure you don't let him catch you off guard. He's not to be trifled with," Isaac said warningly, before flaring his eyes white once again as he handed control back to Harry.

Standing up, the vessel moved away from the Slytherin table and back to his own as more students began to filter into the hall. "Remember what I said, Draco," he called, before turning his back completely and leaving Azrael and Draco to stew on what he had said._ 'Well, one things for sure,'_ Azrael said after he handed the vessel over to Draco._ 'We're not dozing off at all in any of these classes!'_ he cried, and Draco plopped his head into his hands. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

As it turned out, Draco was right, it was going to be a long day. After breakfast, which lasted for far too long in Draco's opinion, the heads of house went around passing out schedules. Draco's heart fell when he saw he had only three classes with the Gryffindors. This was accompanied by the rest of the table groaning because they too had _three_ classes with the Gryffindors. Although their reasons for groaning probably weren't the same as Draco's. One of their first classes was History of Magic, which Draco was startled to learn was actually taught by a ghost.

Upon entering the room, Draco immediately glued himself to Harry's side, and together they sat near the back, their angels' graces spreading out across the room. When all the rest of their housemates had quit gawking at the complete lack of animosity the two were displaying, the class settled down as the teacher, a Professor Binns, floated in through the chalkboard. Both boys' eyes flashed white as their angels took over, and Binns looked up to see not one, but two angels staring at him with wolfish grins on their faces.

His eyes widened in horror as he watched Azrael raise his hand and summon his scythe, and the image of the terrifying weapon was far more than the old ghost could bear, and without further ado let out an enormous shriek and flew through the wall. The students could hear his retreating wails as he passed through classroom after classroom, making his way through all the rooms in a straight shot away from what he perceived as imminent death.

The classroom was stock still as they strained to hear the fading screeches of the ghost, before being startled from their shocked stupor by twin voices singing out in uproarious laughter. Looking back, they saw Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy both rolling on the floor and holding their sides with laughter, tears of mirth streaming from their eyes. Following their example, the entire class burst out into laughter, and all the students began to make their way out of the classroom to wander around the school. By the next class, the entire school was buzzing with chatter, the story of how Binns had finally lost it spreading like wildfire.

Harry and Draco were separated, as their houses had different classes, and Harry sat down for charms while Draco visited the greenhouses for herbology. Isaac was curious as to what to make of the diminutive charms professor. He wasn't a goblin, nor an elf, and he certainly didn't look like a dwarf (no beard). Harry was rather charmed (pun intended, please applaud my brilliance) at how the teacher had to stand on top of a massive stack of books just to reach eye level with the first year class. Isaac, remembering his own mission, sent his grace washing over the minute instructor, not noticing the effect it had on him (Flitwick stopped speaking in midsentence and got a dreamy look in his eye, as if reminiscing about something wonderful). After an in depth scan, Flitwick came up clean.

Isaac withdrew his grace slightly, and settled it comfortably over the entire class, all of whom promptly began to smile and glance at each other cheerily. In fact, the angel only realized he was causing a problem when the instructor began levitating all the books in the room and making the do Irish jigs in mid air, upon which the Irish members of the class began to sing an old drinking tune. It culminated in Flitwick falling off his pedestal, laughing the whole time, and Seamus Finnegan becoming so excited that he started blowing up random objects.

Isaac rapidly withdrew his potent grace, and the room gradually began to calm. Flitwick sat up, completely confused at what had just possessed him to act so, well, childish. He shook his head as if to clear it, then shakily began to proceed with his introduction as if the whole incident had never happened.

This too circled around the school, and by third period the students were becoming worried. Two teachers going barmy in one day? Was some new curse being laid on the staff by an unknown force? The students could only wonder, and they entered their third class with trepidation.

* * *

This was the second class of the day that the Slytherins shared with the Gryffindors, and both houses were once again stunned when two of their members, Draco and Harry, chose to sit together, rather than with their houses as had been the status quo for so long. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and both boys were excited to hear about something so useful. However, as soon as the professor, a quivering, bald headed man dressed in a gigantic purple turban that smelled of garlic, entered the room, alarm bells began to blare for the angels. The man reeked of demonic energy.

Harry's eyes flashed white as Isaac took control, and then faded to a sapphire blue. The angel fanned his pearly white wings behind him, his eyes never leaving the professor, who had stopped speaking and was staring off into space. Quirrell's eyes shifted over the room, before they stopped and rested on Isaac. For just the briefest of moments, his eyes flashed orange and his face morphed into a hungry glare. The shadows boiled around him, as if they wanted to lunge forward and attack everyone in the room. Then the moment had passed, and the shaky professor continued his sweep of the room as if nothing had happened. Isaac shook, memories of those haunting orange eyes coming back to him.

Moving quietly, he made his way over to the door and slipped out. As soon as he exited the classroom, he took off sprinting, his wings beating like mad in an effort to propel him as far away from the demon as possible. 'It can't be! It can't BE!' he screamed in his head, his heart pumping and his grace thrashing wildly. Suddenly it flared, and with a flap of his wings he was on the roof of the school, the open air rising high above his head. Isaac found an alcove that was somewhat sheltered, and he curled into a tiny ball as he rode out his panic attack. _'Hey, Isaac. It's okay buddy, he's not going to hurt you. Not in front of all those people,'_ Harry said soothingly, his magic rubbing the angel's grace as he tried to calm him down from his panic attack.

Isaac shivered as another onslaught of terrible memories swept through him. Those orange eyes, staring down at him as a hand shifted about inside of him, feeling his internal organs and twisting them as Isaac screamed his heart out. That laughter as he hung upside down, his ankles shackled to the ceiling, as hell hounds jumped and snapped below him, trying to grab the dangling angel as he swung back and forth like some perverse piñata. Those hands, as they pinched, prodded, squeezed, pounded away at his body, mind, and grace, attempting to sully him while all the while eliciting screams from the tortured angel. "His eyes," he said quietly. "They're still the same. Still the same eyes after all these years!" he cried, his panic nearly constricting.

His mind was screaming so loud that it completely blocked out any of Harry's pleas, and tears began to fall from the distraught angel's eyes. His wings flayed, stretching to their maximum point, going taught and refusing to unbend. The angel's eyes were wide and blurry, to the point where Isaac could no longer distinguish the individual tiles that were right in front of his nose. He only began to calm down when he felt a flutter of grace, and a pair of hands filtered through his wings and wrapped around his body, cradling his shaking form. Isaac buried himself into Azrael's figure, seeking comfort from every patch of solid piece the angel had to offer. Azrael stood there stoically and allowed the angel to tire himself out on his body, before finally Isaac settled down and rested with his head in the crook of his neck.

Azrael ran a hand through the surprisingly soft black hair, while his other hand cascaded down Isaac's heaving sides. Reaching around, Azrael began to send small caresses through those pearly white wings. "Class is over, we need to get you to your fourth period," Azrael said. Isaac nodded, his head rubbing underneath the black winged angel's chin, and together they flared their grace and descended down through the castle. Harry had transfiguration and it was Draco's turn for charms, so they split up halfway and went their separate ways.

Isaac landed just outside the door, and his eyes flashed white before fading to green as Harry took control back from the shell-shocked angel. He was almost late, and as such took the last available seat at the back of the class. It turned out to be quite an interesting lesson, as Professor McGonagall made her entrance by turning into a human after entering the room as a tabby cat. A passing thought went through the angel's mind, wondering how a skinwalker had managed to penetrate the school. Harry quickly assured him that their teacher wasn't a monster, and Isaac began to come out of his shock. As the lesson proceeded, Isaac was eventually distracted from thoughts on the demon by the apparent acts of creation the mages were displaying. '_This, Harry, is why god made you. You can balance out the destruction of normal mortals with this, a small amount of creation in the palm of your hand. Incredible!'_ he cried, and Harry nodded in agreement, glad that the angel had finally quit shivering.

Isaac was actually doing his best to block out all the memories that had surged forward at the sight of the orange eyes. They were the cold, constricting, paralyzing kind of fear that Isaac hated most of all. He hated feeling powerless, because it only led to pain. The only exception to this rule was Azrael, who would never harm Isaac even if his life depended on it. And so Isaac desperately tried to lose himself in the magic, absorbing everything the Professor said and helping Harry take careful notes down.

Afterwards, they headed to lunch with the rest of the Gryffindors. Harry didn't join in any of the conversation, but somehow managed to get sandwiched in between the two Weasley twins. Both angel and vessel were still having trouble telling them apart, especially when they talked simultaneously.

"So Harry-"

"We were wondering-"

"-since it was your first time here-"

"-what your thoughts on the lesson were!" they said

"And we would also like-"

"-To extend our sincere assurances-"

"-that the teachers-"

"-don't normally act-"

"THIS BARMY!" they finished together, leaving the small boy in between them with a splitting headache. Isaac quickly set his grace to work on soothing Harry's nerve endings, and supplied the boy with the full exchange, minus the changing voices. Harry finally nodded as he got the message. "Oh, right, thanks, er… I mean, they were great, I mean, yeah..?" he said awkwardly, his head still reeling.

He shuddered as the twins split into identical grins and turned back to the conversation on the table. The skin on the back of Harry's neck bristled as once again he felt sinister eyes watching him, and he looked up to see the eyes of two professors staring at him. One was the same man from last night, with black greasy hair and full black robes. The other was far more disturbing: Quirrell was staring at him with glowing, pupil-less orange eyes, with the whites of his eyes spinning. Isaac's pulse quickened inside of Harry, and the boy quickly looked away, for fear of sending the angel into another panic attack. That was the last thing he needed now, especially after he finally calmed Isaac down completely for the last one.

* * *

Soon lunch was over, and they had one more class before they were free for the rest of the afternoon. It was Gryffindors and Slytherins once again together, this time in potions. While the two houses were making their way down, Harry slunk over to Draco's side, wanting to be near his comforting presence. Azrael extended a tendril of his cold-hot grace, and Isaac began to relax under his administrations. They finally reached the potions classroom, and, finding it open, filed in.

The classroom was set up with rows of tables facing the front. Each table had two chairs, indicating the necessity of a partner. Without even making eye contact, Harry and Draco both sat at the same table near the middle of the classroom and began to take out their books. Both houses stared at them in shock, before each house moved to the opposite sides of the room, their sides correlating so that they met with Harry and Draco.

The door banged open and their teacher swept in, his black cloak billowing out dramatically behind him. Stalking forward, the Professor stopped in front of his desk, before placing his hands on top of it and leaning forward, glowering at the class. Harry realized, with a start, that it was the same man who had been staring him at all three of his meals. "I…am Professor Snape" the teacher said slowly, drawing out each of his words so they hung on the air. His dark eyes scanned the room, alighting on each of the students.

Dark eyebrows rose when he saw Harry and Draco sitting together, and his gaze became mixed. He tried to look appraisingly at his godson while simultaneously shoot looks of pure loathing at the boy sitting next to him. The result was a slightly confused, neutral expression that didn't convey either of his two emotions. "There will be no foolish wand waving, or silly incantations in this class," he said slowly, his gaze sweeping out again across the smoky room.

"As such," he continued, "I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle signs and exact art that is potion making. However," he paused, looking down the bridge of his nose at the class. "For those…select few, who possess the predisposition…" he said, drawing out every word. "I can teach you how to bewitch fate, bottle glory, and even put a stopper on death!" he hissed the last word, as if brewing a poison was the most beautiful and sensual thing he could think of. Isaac was beginning to grow wary of this character, especially in the way he folded his robes dramatically over his body while he issued his last declaration.

His eyes snapped onto Harry, and his lip twitched, threatening to pull into a malicious grin. "And, I see we are joined here by Mr. Harry Potter himself. Our newest celebrity," he said, a smirk threatening to break out across his face. Isaac flared his wings, ready to attack should the man show any signs of hostility. Next to him, he felt Azrael do the same, despite Draco's whispered warnings. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added an infusion of asphodel into a solution of wormwood?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and behind the closed lids his eyes flared white, before fading to blue. Opening them, Isaac met cold black eyes, and said in a soft voice, "It would depend on the temperature. If the wormwood was cold, you would get a powerful acid. If it was boiling, however, you would get a potion that could restore a person's memory to near completion, and is often used in medical practices."

Snape ground his teeth behind closed lips. He wasn't supposed to know, the arrogant little mite! His smirk no longer threatening, Snape unlocked his teeth and asked, "And where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

The angel smiled, before replying, "In the stomach of a goat, just behind the heart and right above the liver." Isaac knew this from experience, after seeing so many goats being sacrificed in his time on earth previously. Snape seemed to grow more frustrated than ever. "Correct," he snarled, to the shock of everyone in the room.

Finally, he shifted up and asked his final question, "What is the difference between monkshead and wolfsbane?" he spat, not even bothering with 'Mr. Potter,'

Isaac broke into a full on grin. "Why, there is no difference! Surely you knew that Professor?" he said, his blue eyes laughing at the frustrated potions professor. Snape's eyes suddenly narrowed. 'Weren't his eyes green before?' he thought, before he blinked, and the blue had been replaced by the green he had seen earlier. Snape blinked a few times, sure that his mind must be playing tricks on him. It was probably just the stuffy air, but those green eyes looked exactly like Lilly's. "Five points for cheek, Mr. Potter!" he cried, before stalking back over behind his desk and whacking the board with his wand.

"I'm sure none of you have ever brewed a potion before, but surely even beginners should have no problem with a simple calming draught. Class will be dismissed when all groups have turned in their potions." And with that, he sat down behind his desk and folded his hands together, the shadows moving forward to conceal his face and making him appear more sinister.

_'What a prick!'_ Isaac screamed in Harry's head._ 'He had no reason to do that! Please, Harry, you have to let me smite him!'_ the angel cried. "No," Harry whispered under his breath, horrified that Isaac would even consider something like that._ 'Not even a little?'_ the white winged child asked hopefully, but Harry's negative was absolute, and he and Draco worked for the rest of the period to get their potion done. After they turned in their perfect flask of Calming Draught, Draco and Harry sat down and waited for the rest of the students to be done, before finally they were allowed to exit.

* * *

Instead of following after the rest of the Slytherins to their common room, which was close by, Draco decided instead to trail after Harry. When they reached ground level, they made their way outside and stepped into the afternoon sun. The cool, fall wind was beginning to blow, but Isaac and Azrael erected walls of grace to block out the bite of it. Together, the two boys walked across the grounds, before finally reaching the edge of the black lake, where they found a nice, large tree to sit under. '_It's been here for a thousand years,'_ Azrael informed his vessel, and Draco nodded, impressed by the solidness of the ancient tree.

Leaning back, he glanced up at the sky, watching the clouds move past. "That one looks like a rabbit," he heard Isaac say casually, and he looked to the cloud that Harry was pointing to. It was in the vague shape of a rabbit in the middle of a hop, but even as Draco watched it morphed into something else. Both he and Harry's eyes flashed as their angels came out to talk. Spreading their wings, white and black feathers overlapped, and both angels shuddered as their sensitive nerves were tickled. Azrael looked out to the lake, allowing the calmness to soothe his racing mind.

"So we found him, I guess," he said calmly, worried about how he was going to broach the topic to the oversensitive angel. He had never been told the details of Isaac's time with Valefar, and he didn't want to know them. He didn't want to hear about all the ways the evil, demonic hell-spawn bastard had hurt his oldest friend. He had felt Isaac's pain once, and it was this that had alerted him to the angel's position. It had been excruciating even for Azrael at the time, and he could only imagine what it must have been like for Isaac, who had experienced it firsthand.

White wings shivered as he registered the angel of death's words. "Yeah. Sorry about freaking out, I just had to get away. I don't think I'll be able to attend any defense lessons this year, not with him in there," he said, remembering the orange eyes that had stared at him so hungrily. Azrael nodded. "Why were his eyes orange?" he asked, truly curious about the demon's unusual gaze. He had seen the typical black eyes, the crossroad demon red eyes, and even white and yellow eyed demons, but never orange eyed ones. Isaac sighed. "The white eyed demons are sort of like the senior staff of hell, and the yellow eyes are the generals. You know this, just as every other angel does. There is, however, a very, very rare class of demons called the Demon Lords. They have almost as much power as Lucifer, and are nearly unstoppable. Only archangels can even hope to defeat them. They have orange eyes, and can actually perceive supernatural entities with them, even if they are cloaked." Isaac shuddered, remembering those eyes and accompanying laugh as his skin and grace was torn apart.

"But I thought the Knights of Hell all had black eyes?" Azrael said, confused by this news. Isaac shook his head. "The knights of hell weren't just one class: they had five lower class, black eyed demons, such as Abbadon. There were four white eyed demons, such as Adonis and Oje. And then there were three demon lords. Two of them were Leraje, the leader, and Valefar, his second in command. They were the absolute pinnacle of demonic power, and had complete authority over every single demon in existence. As such, they were the most evil, foul, cruelest creatures you could possibly imagine. And I was on the receiving end of that cruelty, that malice, that _hunger_, for seven long years." Isaac shivered again, the memories pressing into his head.

He was chained to a large, black tablet with chains made of pure darkness. He saw the blades hanging above him, dripping with his blood, while the demon responsible sat on top of him, using his clawed hands to cut swirling designs into his pure white skin, a smile spreading across his face. His bat-like wings spread out behind him, darkness cascading from them, and pouring all over the angel, trying to smother his pure, innocent grace.

Isaac snapped out of the memory before it could continue, as Harry's voice screamed out at him. _'Isaac, listen to me!' _Harry cried, exasperated by the angel. _'I get that he hurt you, but what was the first lesson you taught me? Don't be weak! Don't just sit there and shiver when he comes at you, get mad! He tore you up? So what? You'll tear **him** up the next time we see him. I'll make sure of it!'_ the wizard cried, and his words rang true in the heart of the angel.

Deep inside of the child of heaven, something snapped; and a flame flared to life. Quickly, this flame spread, until it encompassed the entirety of his being. "You're right, Harry. You're absolutely right," Isaac said out loud as he stood up.

Azrael raised a pale eyebrow at what the angel was saying to his vessel, but was startled when he saw the determined fire in the white winged angel's eyes. "No more running. No more hiding. No more cowering in fear, crying like a baby. When see him again, I won't be the one to be overpowered.

Isaac walked to the edge of the water, his grace flaring up and casting the silhouette of his wings onto the tree. "Valefar, pray to whatever black deity it is that you now worship that you do not meet me again. For if you do, I won't just kill you. Oh no, I will rip you apart. Piece by tiny piece!"

And with a flare of his grace, the white winged angel was gone, leaving the angel of death to puzzle out his friend's words. Unseen by the black winged angel, a man stood at the edge of the forest, a gentle smile on his face. "Go on, my sons," he said. "Go and smite the evil for which you were made to face."

And with that, the man spun around and disappeared a few feet into the tree line, and breath of heavenly air sweeping through the trees.

* * *

**I think I might be a little plot-twist-happpy. **

**.**

**.**

**(*Throws another curve ball*) Nah, I'm just fine. Hey, why is there no one on my team anymore? *"Because you keep throwing f****** plot twists!"***

**Yeah, well its my story and I'll do with it as I like.**

**I'm so, so sorry about how late this took to update. Now that school is back on, I am really going to be pressed for time. Except much longer update times, but hey, at least the chapters will be longer. **

**Also, I think I forgot to mention it, but a question came up about the angel sigils. Well, I meant to write them in, but I plumb forgot about it. Let me just say right now that yes, they both (Azrael and Isaac) have angel sigils on them. However, thanks to their unique grace, they are not completely untraceable, and also a special ability of a Siam Dot, which are _designed _to hunt after fallen angels, is to use the scent of this grace to sort of see through the sigils.**

**Thanks again to everyone who reviews, and if you're reading this, then YOU SHOULD PROBABLY TELL ME THAT YOU ARE (not so subtle hint)**

**Also, I am so, sorry, sorry, sorry! I called Seamus Scottish instead of Irish by accident! I have remedied this, and I did not mean to insult any Scottish or Irish. I am actually descended from a Scottish clan on my father's side, but it goes way back. And there I go blabbering again. Blah, blah-blah! **

**Anyway, Rate and REVIEW! Ta-Ta!-** Arudon

**P.S: If you like Harry!Creature fics, be sure to take a look at my new story **Cheshire Cat **on my profile.**


	10. There Be Creatures Here, Isaac

**Hello, and thank you for those wonderful reviews. Have I ever told you I love you guys? Well, in the words of Castiel, "I LOVE YOU GUYS!"**

**Well here you go, next chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

Quirrell was walking quietly through the halls, back to his office, when he heard his master scream at him to get a move on. He quickly broke into an all out sprint, and was soon standing in the doorway of his private rooms, panting. His eyes suddenly flicked orange, as his master came to the forefront of his mind. Reaching up, the demon unbound the turban, allowing his other face, the one known as Voldemort, to breath. The distorted face breathed a sigh of relief as he inhaled his first breath of fresh air. "Finally! I'm sick of being wrapped up in that smelly turban all day," the face said, and the demon nodded as he positioned his mirror more properly. He whispered an incantation in latin, and the mirror swirled with fog, before clearing.

Instead of reflecting the orange eyed Quirrell, it revealed the face of a tall, handsome man with dark hair and a finely crafted face. The only things that set him apart from a human were his vertical red pupils. Also, something about the man's face just seemed to scream, "SNAKE!"

The demon admired the face, which stared coldly back at him. "Well, say something!"it said, and the demon only laughed, amused at how the voice came from both the back of his head and from the mirror. "Oh, you always are amusing, aren't you Tom?" Valefar chuckled, and the image closed its eyes and shook its head. "What has you in such a good mood?" Tom asked, a little put off by the demon lord's uncharacteristically good mood. Normally the knight of hell would be sulking and moaning, reminiscing about the good old days when he still actually had his own body.

Valefar's smile was enough to send shivers running through the room, as if the very air was terrified of the evil that rolled off of it. "I just can't believe that of all the angels we could come across, it would be him!" the demon cried, before leaning back and emitting an enormous, earth shattering laugh that echoed in four voices at once. Tom shook his head again. "What is so great? That angel saw us, you gave us away! You screwed everything up! We don't know how long we have before an archangel comes down and smites us! How could you possibly be happy about this? And who is this angel to you anyway?" Tom asked the last question with a raised dark eyebrow.

His red pupils met full orange eyes. "He is the most innocent and pure angel heaven has to offer. He's Isaac. I have a long, personal, and highly intimate relationship with him," he said, his mind going back to all the pleasant times he had elicited such wonderful screams from the trapped child. In the mirror, Tom shuddered, knowing exactly what Valefar meant when he said '_intimate._' "I had the pleasure of owning him for seven years, before a blasted archangel decided to go and ruin it all. I was so close to getting him to break too. And what's even better is his choice of vessel! It's Harry Bloody Potter, the same boy that caused our fall from power!" the demon drew in a breath of air between the meatsuit's teeth, his wrath expanding across the room and his demonic wings threatening to manifest as his mind roiled at the irony of it all.

"This doesn't change our plans," Tom said, drawing the demon's attention back on him. "We're still going to get the stone and use it to get a body back. Then, when it's all taken care of, you can have your angel. Is that acceptable to you, Valefar?" Tom asked, and the demon lord thought about it for a moment. Finally, he nodded his head, and with a snap of his fingers the mirror cleared, and he stood up, his eyes fading from orange and back to Quirrell's natural color. He and Tom would have a lot of planning to do, and he would leave the mundane affairs such as class teaching to lower life forms like Quirrell to sort through.

* * *

The month passed relatively uneventful, and the students settled into the routine pattern that life at Hogwarts brought with it. Classes five days a week, and on the weekends they were allowed to wander around the castle while the older students went into Hogsmeade. The only change for the first years was the wonderful flying lesson they had all taken. Many were still upset that they weren't allowed to play quiditch, but both Harry and Draco came to understand exactly why that was when they saw just how terrible the rest of the class was.

Of course, the two boys flew like naturals, their angels dancing around each other as they sailed through the air.

Harry's eyes flashed white as Isaac took over, and across the grounds he saw Draco's eyes do the same. The two angels met over the middle of the practice field, higher up than the other students, and looked down upon the grounds. Azrael leaned over to Isaac and whispered, "Would you care to perform a Sar Tunavan?"

Isaac's eyes widened, remembering all the times in heaven he had seen one played out. The Sar Tunavan was a sort of dance that the angels had, where they flew in concentric patterns in the air designed to awe onlookers and provide an image of fluidity. Isaac had learned the steps, and had actually danced one with another angel (Gabriel, if he recalled correctly,) so he eagerly nodded, and together the two separated and flew to opposite ends of the field.

Isaac's blue eyes met Azrael's gold, and with a nod from the black winged angel, they both shot forward, hurtling at break neck speeds toward each other. All the students beneath them broke off and stared up in awe as the Slytherin and Gryffindor approached each other, and Madame Hooch, fearing a collision, blew her whistle in an attempt to halt them.

At the very last second, however, instead of colliding, the two angels arched their broomsticks straight up, angling their wings so as to provide a smoother transition. Climbing high into the sky, they stopped accelerating and allowed their brooms to stall, noses pointing straight up, before they turned and fell back to earth. Angling their wings again, the black and white winged angels sent their dive into a corkscrew, curling around each other and providing a dizzying display for the audience below.

This wasn't just for a spectacle, however. The Sar Tunavan was a ritual that heaven used to help purify and strengthen both an angel's grace and resolve. Azrael knew that Isaac needed this. Desperately.

As they neared the ground, the two angels reactivated their brooms and cut off their dive, spinning out from each other in opposite directions, before circling the courtyard at high speeds. The students gaped at the speeds at which they were going. How could the school brooms, notoriously for being outsripped by butterflies, possibly go that fast?

In actuality the angels were fueling the brooms with their grace, pushing them faster than they should have been allowed to go. Swerving back in, the two angels almost collided again, but broke off at the last second. Instead of going straight up, this time, they swerved to the right, their paths crossing again and again as they coiled around each other.

Streaming forward, the two shot into the air and began to perform concentric figure eights in opposite directions of each other. Eventually, it formed and infinity sign, and the two flyers were almost moving faster than the eye could follow.

The pace seemed to be getting faster, the tension building, as their flying became more and more erratic. Finally, the two brooms shot straight up in the air again, climbing higher than they did on their first ascent. When they reached the top, they both peeled out backwards, performing an upside down 180 degree turn. They shot at break neck speeds towards the ground.

They pulled up at the last possible moment, and coasted around courtyard again, their grace falling and the brooms rapidly decelerating. Pulling up, the two landed and got off their brooms.

The two boys' eyes flashed white as their angels passed control back over to the youths. Draco glanced over at his counterpart, smoothing out his hair as he did so. This proved to be a fatal mistake, for in the next second he was doubled over, laughing so hard he feared he would cough up a lung.

"What?" Harry asked bewildered, unaware that his appearance gave one the impression that he had recently stuck half his hand in an electric socket repeatedly, whilst wearing a suit of armor. His hair was standing straight up, and every strand was pointed straight back, his internal magic having altered it so as to make it more aerodynamic. Draco had to squeeze his eyes shut and tried to envision the most humorless thing he could think of in an attempt to quell his heaving lungs. A picture of Snape standing before him holding a paper with an 'F' written on it sprang to mind, and slowly Draco began to calm down.

When he reopened his eyes, Harry's hair had reverted back to its original style, but his confused look was so cute and innocent that it almost sent Draco into another laughing fit. Letting out a slight guffaw, the smiling Slytherin slung his arm around the dark haired boy. "Come on, let's get back inside," he said, and together the pair marched back up the steps and into the great hall. They did not see the flashing orange eyes disappear behind a curtain across the courtyard, nor could they see the demon's smile.

But they did get the sense that they should enjoy the time allotted to them to smile, for things were probably going to get a lot darker very soon.

* * *

Harry and Draco were going to be late! Both Isaac and Azrael had slept in, exhausted by the invigorating experience of dancing the Sar Tunavan. Typically, angels who danced that particular dance had to rest for at least a day, thanks to their grace glowing so brightly. That wasn't an option for the two angels, as Hogwarts' schedule stopped for no winged creature, no matter how noble their intentions were.

The shifting staircases weren't helping at all, either. Just as they were about to reach the corridor that would take them straight to History of Magic (which was now taught by another teacher sent from the ministry at the request of Dumbledore, as they were still trying to get Binns to come down from the bell tower where he had holed up), the staircase shifted from the right side of the wall to the left. The corridor at the end of the staircase was now blocked off by a large red door. Harry glanced back to Draco, who shrugged his shoulders and pushed ahead.

Both boys were immediately taken aback at the sheer darkness of the hall before them. Without thinking, Harry snagged Draco's hand, images of a dark and oppressing cupboard coming to mind, and his bones began to ache in memory of all the beatings he had taken. Isaac shushed him from the inside, and Draco squeezed his hand comfortingly. Pushing forward, the two entered the hall fully, and the door immediately swung shut behind them.

Torches flare to life on the walls, catching them by surprise, and both boys' eyes flashed white as their angels took over. White eyes faded to gold and blue, and the two heavenly soldiers looked around. Their bodies began to glow as their grace shone through, still in flux from the dance yesterday. It provided a natural light that lit up the hall much better than the torches did. "Where are we?" whispered Azrael to Isaac, looking cautiously around.

Isaac walked over to a wall and examined it. His hand trailed along the cold stone, picking up cobwebs. Clearly this section had been closed off for some time, but obviously not longer than maybe a summer. So it hadn't been totally abandoned. "We must be in the third floor corridor," he said, his blue eyes sweeping over the rest of the hall. "Nothing else makes sense." He started when he saw a shadow on the far wall.

"Who's there!" he heard the shadow call, and he and Azrael shared a look of panic, before the angel of death pushed the white winged angel through a door that he had his back to. The golden eyes quickly flashed white before fading to silver, and Draco whipped out his wand and cast a locking spell on the door. He sighed in relief as he heard the latch click into place. "That should hold him for a while," he said, before glancing over to Isaac.

The angel was staring in the opposite direction of the door, a look of utmost concentration on his face. "Don't…make…any…sudden…moves," he growled out around clenched teeth. Draco's eyes flashed white once more as Azrael came the fore of his mind. Turning slowly, the angel of death froze as he saw a dog in the center of the room. A three headed dog. The size of a truck. That was looking at him as if he were the tastiest thing in the whole wide world.

_"Grr…Ruff, students have invaded our den!"_ growled the head to the right.

_"Grr…Ruff, they don't smell like students,"_ said the head to the left.

_"Grr…Ruff, they have wings. They must be angels. Grr…Ruff, Angels, what do you want?"_ the head in the middle asked.

Isaac's eyes widened. "Uhh, Grr, Ruff? We're hiding from someone," Isaac said uncertainly, not sure if the dog could understand them, as the angels could apparently understand it.

_"Grr…Ruff, they're obviously lying. They're here to get through the door,"_ the one on the left snarled, snapping its teeth, only to be silenced by the middle and right heads. The middle head snapped its eyes back to the two boys. _"Grr…Ruff, is this true?"_ it asked, its yellow eyes narrowing.

Isaac glanced at Azrael nervously before saying slowly, "Grr…Ruff, What door? You mean this one?" he asked, pointing to the door behind him. All three heads shook in an obvious negative.

_"Grr…Ruff, No, this one,"_ the right head said, and the entire body shifted so as to expose a small trapdoor that was underneath it.

Isaac shook his head. "Grr…Ruff, no, we didn't come to get through that door. We'll be going now," he said, nudging Azrael, who slid his hand slowly towards the latch.

_"Grr…Ruff, they have seen it! They can't leave!"_ screamed the left head, and apparently the other two listened to him this time, as they all lunged forward at the retreating angels. Both small boys screamed, and Azrael yanked the door open and thrust the white winged angel out before him. Turning, he started to push the door shut, the dog on the other side pushing in the opposite direction. However, the angel of death was stronger than the Cerberus, and the door eventually slammed shut. Azrael placed his palm on the door and sent a spike of grace through it, sealing it off. This shot of grace would also tell him who exactly was trying to get in through the door should anyone else try.

_"Grr…Ruff, come back here!"_ screamed the dog.

_"Grr…Ruff, we're going to eat you!"_ another head cried.

The angels didn't listen as they sprinted back down the hallway and out the door, collapsing on the staircase which was waiting innocently for them.

As soon as they were both on it, the door slammed shut and the staircase shifted back to the other side of the wall, giving them access to the correct corridor. Azrael looked down at the platform. "Oh, now you move?!" he cried indignantly, and the staircase shook, almost like it was laughing at him. Azrael just shook his head and hauled Isaac to his feet. "Come on, let's go," he said softly, and together the two walked up the stairs and down the proper corridor, their eyes flashing white as their vessels took back over.

Draco glanced over to Harry, a smirk on his face. "You speak dog?" he asked, a chuckle in his voice, before ducking a halfhearted blow from the exhausted Gryffindor.

* * *

Alcasan stood on top of a mountain somewhere in the Himalayas, his smoke grey wings billowing in the icy wind. His double grace was wearing his vessel thin, and he knew he would have to hurry if he was to find the two angels. A flutter of wings indicated one of his subordinates had found something. Spinning around, he stared at the white and black speckled winged angel that had just appeared. "What is it, Martin?" he asked, his brown eyes staring into wide gray ones.

The angel bowed before the hunter. "We have found a trace of his grace sir," said the kneeling angel, his wings shifting as they were caught by the wind. "Where," Alcasan asked, licking his lips in anticipation.

"In the ruins of Nym Doch," Martin said, shivering as he said the name.

Alcasan nodded. "Show me," he commanded, and he placed his hand on the kneeling angel's shoulder. Martin stood up quickly, and he too placed an arm on his brother's shoulder. Martin flared his grace and brought his wings down, and suddenly both angels were standing before the ruined citadel. All around them, angels wandered, searching for signs of their elusive prey. Alcasan lifted his head and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, his special hunter senses analyzing the scents.

Walking over, he bent down on one particular spot, and placed his hand on the ground. The scent was strongest here, and it was right at the edge of the wards. "Here," he said quietly, before leaning forward to inhale the scent again. His sensitive nose confirmed what his instincts were telling him, and he stood up, satisfied that he now had a trail.

He stepped forward, moving so that he was exactly on the spot where Isaac's scent was freshest. Spreading his wings behind him, he raised his arms and began to chant in Enochian. His eyes began to glow white as the power of the angel language seeped from his body and into the surrounding air.

The white grace began to spin faster, and soon it coalesced into a strong white strand that shot away from him, zooming across the mountain range and off into the horizon. Alcasan smiled as he stopped chanting. "Alright, we're going to follow this trail, and it should lead us to his next location!" Alcasan cried, and all around him his angels nodded. Flaring his wings, he took off, following the white glowing line across the mountains.

"I'm getting closer Isaac, just you wait," he whispered, and a laugh was ripped from him as he sped through the air, following the scent of the angel.

* * *

The months passed, and soon Halloween rolled in, setting the whole school abuzz with chatter about the upcoming spectacles. Apparently, Hogwarts always outdid itself during holiday season, and the feasts were thing of legend. The ghosts seemed to have worked up a good amount of courage, for around this time they started scaring passerby's in attempt to increase the spirit of the holiday. However, they always stayed as far away as possible from the two angels, especially the angel of death.

Peeves had taken it upon himself to start being twice as destructive as before, but always in areas where he knew the angels wouldn't be. Much to the horror of the upper level teachers, who didn't teach first years, and to Filch, who was constantly being called into the upper levels of the castle to clean up after the pesky ghost. Often, students could hear him mumbling about all the stairs in the castle, and what he would do if the founders were still around.

Harry got a nasty shock when the day of Halloween Ron Weasley made some absolutely insensitive remarks about Hermione Granger, the local bookworm, while still in earshot of her. Apparently, she had gone into the girls bathroom and hadn't come out all day, and she was absent when the feast began. The Great Hall had really given itself a makeover, and the floating candles had been replaced with floating jack-o-lanterns. There were sweets galore, and the ghosts even managed to brave the peril of two angels and danced around in the air, staying in the middle of the hall so as to stay away from the menacing supernatural force that occupied both sides of the hall.

Harry wasn't really hungry, and he had only a small portion of chicken and pumpkin pie. The Weasley Twins had picked up where Draco had left off, and made it their appointed duty to try to expand the small boy's stomach every meal. At first this had led to many headaches, but eventually Harry had grown used to their strange way of talking. They were just in the process of trying to make him eat more of his pie when the Great Hall doors flew open, and a seemingly terrified Professor Quirrell sprinted into the room. "TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" he shrieked, before stopping and staring up at the head table. "Thought you'd like to know," he said, before his eyes rolled back and he fainted right there. The hall was immediately in turmoil, as students began to scream and pandemonium ensued.

Dumbledore got to his feet and raised his wand to his throat "SILLLEEEEEEEEEENCCEEEE!" he shouted, his magically amplified voice echoing across the hall. All the students stopped scrambling around and turned to look at the headmaster. "Prefects, lead your houses back to your dormitories. All teachers, come with me to the dungeons." The staff nodded and got up to follow the old wizard, while the prefects stood up and began to herd their houses out the Great Hall doors.

Harry's hand was snagged, and he glanced back to see Draco standing there, his eyes wide. "Hey, wasn't there a girl who missed the feast and was crying in the girls bathroom?" he asked, and Harry's eyes widened. "Hermione," he whispered, and his green eyes met silver. "She doesn't know," he exclaimed, and Draco nodded in comprehension. Together, the two first years quietly slipped out the hall and made their way down to the dungeons.

Harry held his hand up as they approached a corner, and Draco stopped behind him. Peering around the bend, Harry saw the huge, lumbering troll making its way past the intersection on the opposite hallway. "We have to get to the girls lavatory before it does," he whispered to Draco, before both boys' thoughts were interrupted by a terrified scream and an accompanying bellow. "Too late," the blond said, and grabbing the dark haired boy, he sprinted out into the hall.

Throwing open the bathroom door, Draco took in the sight of a nearly destroyed bathroom. The Troll was humungous, and was swinging his large club around furiously and bellowing the whole time. A shriek brought both boys' eyes towards the girl, who was hiding under the sinks.

Their eyes flashed white, and the two angels took control of the vessels. Their rage was almost palpable as they regarded the monster attempting to destroy an innocent life.

The troll looked up as it felt the grace permeating the room, and it halted his activities as he saw the two boys glaring at him. It raised its club up high and bellowed.

Azrael stepped forward, and he flexed wrist, summoning his scythe from its metaphorical sheathe. His angel blade slipped into his hand, and his wings shifted to battle stance. Isaac flared his wings, and suddenly he had a hold on the quivering girl. Another flash of grace and he was outside the bathroom, laying her against the wall.

Azrael stepped forward, beating his wings menacingly, and the troll began to grow uncertain. Bellowing again, it swung its club down onto the angel. Its eyes widened as the huge oak shaft broke apart, shattering to pieces like it was glass as it struck the angel's head. Azrael didn't even blink. The troll lifted its other arm, and swung his balled fist at the angel in a huge arc. Azrael raised his arm and deflect the blow, and the troll let out another bellow as his left arm went limp.

Azrael smirked. "Nice try, monster," he said, shifting his wings in preparation for an attack. "But you're going to have to do better to even lay a finger on me. Here, let me show you what I mean." Azrael flared his pure black wings and sprang into the air, suddenly level with the trolls face.

Before the stupid thing could even begin to react, the angel of death slashed his scythe across the trolls face, ripping out its eyeballs and cutting its nose-bone in half. The troll let out a huge cry of anguish, and it stumbled around blindly, its huge, sweaty hands pressed to its face to try to stop the bleeding. But it was slowly losing its life force, as the scythe had done much more than cut its body.

One of the unique features of Azrael's angel blade, apart from its shape, was that it didn't just cut on a physical level. It could literally cut and drag a soul from a body. And that is exactly what had happened to the troll. It wailed in agony as its soul bled away, and it collapsed to the floor. All the strength left its limbs, and soon it was nothing more than a lifeless husk. Azrael snorted and wiped his scythe on the skin of the beast, truly disgusted by its stench. He flared his wings and was suddenly out in the hall with Isaac.

The white winged angel looked up from where he was kneeling by his fellow Gryffindor, who was panting and staring wide eyed at the far wall. "The troll?" he asked, eyeing the angel blade in Azrael's hand. "Dead," the black winged angel said as he dispelled his scythe, sending the blade back to its sheathe on the nether plane.

Both angels snapped their heads up as they heard voices approaching them. Azrael looked to Isaac, who nodded and placed two fingers on the panting girl's forehead. He erased the past five minutes of memory, and then sedated her. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and she didn't hear the flutter of wings as the angels departed.

The teachers came around the corner, and were shocked to find a sleeping Gryffindor outside the open door to the girl's bathroom. Professor Sprout moved over to the girl and put her hand under nose. "She's breathing," she said, and the other teachers nodded before moving into the bathroom.

They all stood stock still at the sight of the destroyed bathroom, the broken water pipes, and the withered troll corpse lying in the middle of the floor. Snape moved forward slowly, and prodded the corpse with his wand. His black eyes took in the slashed face, the broken club, and the pair of small boot prints left in the blood.

He didn't see Quirrell standing near the back, quivering in rage and sniffing the air. Nor did he see the brief flash of orange as the demon caught scent of his favorite angel.

He saw none of this, and as such was completely oblivious to the dark forces that were about to grip Hogwarts by the lapels and shake it vigorously. His only thoughts were how a fully grown, alpha male mountain troll could die from only a single wound. And how was it that the footprints of its slayer were so small? So many questions, but no real answers.

Outside, the clouds began to gather, and the weather started to grow colder. The first snowflakes fell onto the whomping willow, and the wind began to pick up.

Old Man Winter had finally arrived in Scotland.

* * *

**You know, when writing a story of this propensity, it's important to keep funny ideas floating through your head. An author can't really do too much with first year, as its integrity is so vital to the rest of the books. Thus, many authors who start pre-hogwarts tend to stall out during first, second or third year. **

**Now, I've had some practice with this, and I have a load of ideas for spicing up the story instead of just reitterating the canon, only adding angels. One such idea was the talking dog thing. I was watching a Supernatural episode where Castiel mentions that he talked with a cat about the size of its penis, or something along that lines (It was when Castiel was crazy ok) and I thought, wait, wouldn't it be cool if the angels could talk to the magical creatures? So this came out.**

**Also, seriously guys check out my Cheshire Cat story, I've been stewing on that idea as well. It was around the same time I came up with this one, but I wasn't expecting this story to explode the way it did and have only now gotten around to writing the first chapter. Also, please forgive grammatical errors, I am still doing my own editing, beta-less.**

**Stay tuned for the next installment, and don't forget to leave comments.**

**Rate and Review! Ta-Ta!- **Arudon


	11. Christmas Tidings

**Thank you Hortensia for being my 100th reviewer! I hope you guys aren't losing interest in this fic, because I have at least a thousand more plans for my angels.**

**Well, here's the next installment in our saga. Enjoy**

* * *

The school owls were growing exhausted. So many letters had been sent out from the students at the holiday time! The owls had to actually be fed some magically enhanced owl feed to keep up their performance time. Many of the letters contained news of the past year, including the fright over the Halloween incident and the latest gossip about the two seemingly best of friends: Harry and Draco.

The pair's relationship had risen to legendary status in Hogwarts, as most pre-Hogwarts friendships hardly lasted more than a week if the students were in different houses. The fact that an entire semester had passed and a massive spat hadn't driven the two apart was nothing short of extraordinary!

Draco had signed up to stay at Hogwarts over the break, Azrael having no desire to part with Isaac, and Draco really didn't want to push the limit on the perception filters. They had had some close calls when Isaac was almost spotted during his stay in the manor, and that was only for a week. And Draco didn't think he could survive two weeks alone with his parents again, not after the paradise he had been living in ever since Harry had entered his life.

Harry's reasons for staying were much simpler. Where on earth could he possibly go that was safe for him? Nym Doch? The place was a temporary shelter at best, and by now was probably covered with angels. The magic of the mages served as a highly effective smokescreen the majority of the time, and almost all of his grace was concealed by it. The rest was covered up by the angel sigils that both he and Azrael had carved into their vessels. This meant that he was nigh on untraceable as long as he remained in Hogwarts. Plus, he discovered early on that the founders must have had some knowledge of demons, as most if not all of the bricks in Hogwarts had salt in them, making it impossible for a normal demon to even enter.

This single fact also worried Isaac greatly, as Valefar seemed to have no trouble moving about the school, and appeared to be immune to salt lines. Indeed, Isaac had tested this theory by laying down a nearly invisible salt line across the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, a class that he had not attended since the first day of school. Sure enough, the demon hadn't even noticed that there _was_ a salt line, and had walked straight through it unimpeded.

Harry had been mostly self teaching himself DADA, as there was absolutely no way Isaac would allow himself to be within fifty feet of the Demon Lord. School life was made hectic by the continued presence of the demon. At meals, Isaac would often look up to see the orange eyes of Professor Quirrell staring at him unblinkingly, and every time he saw it shivers racked his body. The demon would always smile and wave at the boy, before setting his hands down and continue to stare. He could still feel those hands running blades through his wings and violating his essence, and every glance reminded him of those seven long years. Once, he attempting to challenge the demon and locked eyes in a staring contest. As neither the angel nor the demon needed to physically blink, it only ended when Isaac was forced to get up from the table, thus allowing the demon to score a victory.

But he managed to cope with it, and eventually it began to feel like a game to the child of heaven, sort of like a real life version of angels and demons. Only with their positions flipped, and with Isaac's physical well-being on the line instead of simply bragging rights.

Still, the white snow was beautiful, and seemingly overnight Christmas trees appeared all over Hogwarts, as if some Christmas fairy had visited and chopped down an entire swath of the arctic tree line just to transfer it to Hogwarts. The ghosts were going about singing Christmas carols, and Peeves even toned down his chaos by just a hair as a Christmas present.

On Christmas eve, Isaac was out on the grounds alone, stretching his white wings in the cold winter air. The moon shone down on him, painting the white landscape into a beautiful array of colors and lights, and the snow seemed to be almost blue. He had erected a wall of grace that kept both him and Harry warm, allowing him to enjoy the sights of winter without actually feeling it. He smiled when he got an idea, and flopping backwards, he spread his wings out, and the snow pushed aside to accommodate the white wings. He lay there, enjoying the feeling of his sings in the snow, playing with his red and gold scarf while he stared up at the stars.

His mood was interrupted when he heard a crack of a twig behind him. Looking back, he spied an upside down figure frozen in their tracks. Isaac sprang up, half-expecting to see Azrael there about to tackle him. Instead, his walls of grace almost fell as he found himself not six feet away from a pair of orange glowing eyes.

Valefar smiled at the shocked angel. He had the funniest look on his face, like a deer in the brightest headlights that could ever be physically made. His shadowy, demonic wings spread out behind him, and his barbed tail lashed the ground behind him. They were actually quite rare in hell, as only very high level demons even had wings. Most only had a shadowy essence about them, but some, like the white and yellow eyed ones, had wings, and a few even had tails, but none were as impressive as Valefar's. Each was about six feet across when fully extended, and were pure black, with sharp electric lines zig-zagging at random intervals across its surface. His tail was much the same, only there were several sharp barbs extending from it, and it ended with a demonic arrowhead point.

"Hello, little angel," he said quietly, his voice like soft velvet and modulating hypnotically. His orange eyes almost seemed to swirl as he stared into wide blue eyes that were opened to their maximum, reflecting the starlight in their sapphire depths. The angel seemed to be on the verge of bolting, and the demon took a slow step forward, his smile never leaving his face.

Isaac unconsciously took a step back, his wings contracting around his body protectively. The Demon Lord laughed at the action, and Isaac's blue eyes narrowed. "You haven't been attending any of my classes," he said, taking another step forward. Isaac took another step back, his wings shuffling nervously behind him. Valefar's eyes trailed along those wings. Oh, how he wanted to run his hands through them again. But first he would have to catch him. "Such a bad student," he said, his eyes narrowing menacingly.

Isaac was attempting to hold himself together, but it was made much more difficult as his entire body screamed at him to run. "Wh-What do you want?" he asked stutteringly, sounding a lot like Quirrell, the demon noted. The Demon Lord laughed at the irony of that statement. "What do I want?" he asked rhetorically, and he put his hand to his chin and looked up at the sky, his wings settling into the classic thinking position.

"Well, let's see. What do I want for Christmas? What could you possibly give to me as a Christmas present? Well, first, I want a proper body," he said, holding up one finger. "Second, I want to have my old power back, and an army of demons at my disposal." He added another finger.

"Third, I want the world at my feet, and for heaven to crumble and disintegrate, and for all you angels to learn your place," he said with a smile, before he looked back at Isaac, his swirling orange eyes drinking in the fear the white winged angel was radiating. "But most of all, what I want most for Christmas…" he paused for effect, keeping the angel in suspense for as long as possible.

He took another step forward. "Is you," he whispered, and lunged at the angel, his arms outstretched. Isaac yelped and leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding the demon. He wasn't able to dodge the demon's thick tail though, and one of the barbs cut across his forearm and he was sent flying. He somersaulted in midair and landed with his feet on the ground, his snow white wings splayed out behind him, almost blending in with the background. They weren't in battle stance, though. Instead, they were poised to run.

And run he did. He sprinted across the snowy ground as if the armies of hell itself were chasing after him. Which, in a way, it was. Typical.

Valefar had approximately the same power of a thousand mid-level demons, so he was practically a one man/demon army. One that was currently intent on pursuing a single, unfortunate angel across the castle grounds. As Isaac pushed his vessel's legs to move faster, he silently thanked Harry's cousin for forcing him to run away so often, as it had really helped his calf muscles develop. Add the two years of training at Nym Doch to this, and Harry would prove to be nigh on uncatchable. Which was why it came as an absolute shock to the angel when he felt a rush of air behind him, indicating he had narrowly missed the demon's grabbing hand. He flared his wings and performed a grace jump, and he was suddenly in the forbidden forest.

Racing ahead, he hid behind the tree and shuddered as he heard the demon's leathery wings flap and a flare of wrath. "A game of hide and seek?" the demon called out, his orange eyes roving the trees, searching for a flash of white that would indicate the angel's hiding spot. "How childish of you, Isaac!" he cried, his tail lashing the ground behind him. He inhaled sharply, and smiled as his sensitive nose picked up a trace of the angel. His head turned in the direction of its source, and he began to stalk closer towards the tree he knew Isaac was hiding behind.

His feet didn't make any sound as he stepped lightly over the snow, his demonic wrath muffling his footsteps and cancelling out the sound. He stopped when he was directly in front of the tree. "But what can you expect from the Child of Heaven?" he asked softly, and his grin spread even wider as he heard a gasp from the opposite side of the tree. "But you know what, Isaac? The thing about games is that they always have a loser and a winner, and I think I just won!" he cried, as he sprang around the tree, only to duck back as an angel blade went whistling through the air inches from his face.

"Stay away from me!" Isaac cried, and in a flash of grace, he was back in the castle, running towards the library.

He heard the flap of leathery wings behind him, and he tripled his speed, pouring his grace into his legs. He could feel Valefar's wrath permeating the air as he ran, trying to negate the effects of his grace. He forced himself to ignore it and dashed down another hallway, weaving back and forth as he did so in a vain attempt to throw off his pursuer.

He was about to perform another grace jump when his right wing was snagged from behind by a clawed hand, tripping Isaac up and sending both the angel and the demon tumbling down a flight of stairs. Isaac's face twisted in pain as he felt the claws yank at his wings, and hissed as he felt a hand grab onto his shoulder. The demon quickly let go, letting out a hiss of his own. With an unearthly howl, he grabbed onto the stairs and flared of his wrath. With a flap of his demonic wings, he was gone, leaving only a whiff of shadow that hung in the air.

Isaac tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs before lying sprawled at the bottom, his small form quivering. He reached a hand out and caressed his wings, sending his grace into them to cleanse the wrath that had tainted his feathers. His rational mind finally caught up to the rest of his consciousness, and his logic began to scream at him to get up and get to cover before the demon recovered from whatever had forced him to let go.

The angel flared his grace once more, and suddenly he was on his bed, in his dorm, at the top of Gryffindor tower. He lay there for a moment, shivering with fright, before he swung his legs off the bed and dragged his trunk out.

Flipping it open, he grabbed a piece of chalk and began to draw warding sigils all around his bed, as well as several devil traps over the door. And even though he knew it wouldn't help, he placed three salt lines in front of the doorframe and one around his bed. He got out his holy water and placed it on his bed side for easy use, and summoned his angel blade. Finally, as a last defense, he curled his pearly white wings around him, completely cocooning himself, and began to pray for protection from his father. He eventually fell asleep like that, in a terrified ball.

* * *

A flare of wrath pervaded the room as the Knight of Hell reappeared in Quirrell's office, his leather black wings smoking and his barbed tail lashing about. Valefar grasped at his hand where he had touched the angel's wings. 'This is not supposed to happen!' he thought, as he clutched his burned skin. Touching the angel had never been painful for the demon lord, but now it felt like he was being burned with gallons and gallons of holy water. The funny part was, it didn't feel like grace or wrath. Instead, it felt like magic. "What's going on?" he hissed, as he forced his wrath to soothe the wound. Darkness wrapped around the hand, and the hot prickling passed over it, mending the skin and tissue. '_I think I know what happened'_ Tom said to him, speaking only into the demon's mind.

"What," the demon hissed in fury, demanding an immediate answer. _'That was a spell that burned us. It didn't originate from the angel, although it was certainly amplified by his grace. It's old magic, and part of the reason why we couldn't kill him that night,'_ Tom explained, his pitch black magical core reaching out to calm the prickly demon's wrath. The demon actually began to calm at the feeling, and he was reminded of why he had chosen to allow himself to be bonded to this human to begin with.

The bond they shared was like no other, and he doubted he would ever, ever take another body, or inhabit another soul. Tom was just perfect for him, and completed the demon in ways that were very similar to the way Isaac and Harry completed each other, or Azrael and Draco. Two sides of the same coin. Only instead of an angelic coin, this coin is black and smoking, and will burn you if you even think of touching it.

"Continue," Valefar demanded, and Tom gratefully obliged. _'It's an unusual ritual, a right of protection which can only be invoked by the strongest of witches, and only if it is the biological mother. She must possess a deep, unyielding love for her child, a love so deep that she is willing to die for it. It is only completed when the mother is slain in defense of her child, and from that moment on the child is protected from that single person until he turns seventeen. I should have realized it sooner, but as long as that protection is up, then we won't be able to touch him,'_ Tom said with finality, patting the demon's wrath as he spoke in an tone that was almost condoling.

The demon didn't want the sympathy though, and his eyes widened with fury. "WHAT?!" he hissed, horrified by the idea of having to wait six whole years before he could finally touch his angel. "Is there any way that we can get rid of it?" he asked, and he felt Tom shake his head._ 'None that I know of, and believe you me, while you were slumbering for fourteen years, I was still active, and I searched for years to try to find a way around it. And in all that time, I haven't found a single clue.'_

The demon sighed and sat down. "I guess we'll worry about it when we have our bodies again," he said, and he folded his tail around himself and began stroking it, picturing the angel tied down to the black rock with chains of darkness, wailing in agony. It was to these thoughts that he fell asleep, the complete opposite of the angel above him.

Their machinations and prayers floated out of the castle and mixed, dancing and clashing in the air like two opposing magnets forced into close contact. But for then, the moon reigned supreme, and she shone her light down evenly on the castle, soothing both angels and demons alike. Tomorrow was Christmas, the most holy day of the year. Even if the Calendar is by now horribly inaccurate.

* * *

Isaac was woken up by a clumsy Neville crashing to the ground. He sprang up, his blue eyes wide with fear as he looked around for the threat. His heart slowly calmed as he saw that most of the runes were still intact, except for the ones that Neville had somehow managed to trip over. How does one manage to trip over a salt line? It doesn't seem physically possible!

Neville glanced up at the now completely alert boy. His moss green eyes were wide in confusion as he tried to decipher the meaning behind the strange marks and salt lines. "Harry, what's with all the crazy symbols?" he asked nervously, staring at the white winged angel.

Neville was the only boy in Harry's year that had decided to stay for the winter break. Ron had been planning to stay, but his family had managed to get him a ticket with them to Romania to visit his brother Charlie, who worked with Dragon's there. This had left the angel with the accident prone boy as a roommate. However, instead of being a nuisance, the sandy haired boy had begun to grow upon the young wizard and his angel, and his clumsiness, instead of being annoying, was actually almost endearing.

That's not to say that it didn't cause problems. He had probably received the most detentions out of the whole first year from Snape thanks to his inability to hold onto a potion bottle. Hermione Granger had taken it upon herself to try to tutor the boy as best as she could, but it didn't help that the boy was almost twice as clumsy when a girl was involved.

Speaking of Hermione, the teachers had released her after a few days in the hospital wing after almost being killed by a troll. She had been ruled out as a suspect for the troll's death, and according to the teachers had blocked the whole incident out. Attempts at retrieving the memory to see her savior(s) were unsuccessful, however, seeing as how the memory of the whole fiasco was somehow deleted from her mind. The staff of course didn't recognize the work of an angel, and were completely baffled at their failure. She too had decided to go home, feeling that some fresh air would do her good.

Isaac's mind was drawn back to the present as he caught sight of those flashing moss green eyes. His thoughts raced, and finally he came up with a logical explanation. "Well, you see…these things are an important part of my, err…religion," he said, coming up with the half truth on the spot. He briefly considered simply wiping Neville's memory, but the idea was batted down by his vessel, who strongly disapproved of manipulating other people in such a way.

"Strange religion," Neville said, before picking himself off the floor and moving to grab a change of clothes. Isaac's eyes flashed white as he handed control back over to Harry.

The green eyed wizard shook his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, yawning as he did so. He looked down at the mess the angel had made, and with a sigh grabbed his wand from his bedside table. The Palo Santo wood and angel core hummed in his hand, and he murmured a cleaning spell that Draco had taught him. With a flash of white, the sigils and salt lines were vanished, and the floor was scrubbed clean of all dirt that had been there.

There were several loud pops, and half a dozen house elves tumbled out of thin air and landed on the floor. Harry looked at them in bewilderment as the diminutive creatures lay groaning on the floor, before one finally managed to pick himself up. "Please Master Potter," the elf said, wobbling even as he said this, his oversized ears flopping back and forth. "Please don't make those nasty markings again. Pippsy and his friends' was trapped for ages! We's couldn't apparate while it was up!" he cried, and all around him the elves nodded from their spots on the floor.

Harry blinked several times before nodding vigorously and helping the poor little creatures up. After they had recovered from their dizziness, they all dissaparated with sharp cracks and bangs. Isaac thought's bounced around Harry's head, wondering why sigils made to keep demons and supernatural forces out had also prevented the elves from entering. What's more, it had held them in their apparated state, and might have held indefinitely had Harry not vanished them. Isaac considered testing it out again, but his thoughts were once more slapped away by a perturbed Harry.

Suddenly, the young boy's mind registered what the day was. "Sweet angel of heaven, I almost forgot it was Christmas!" he cried, while Isaac laughed at his choice of expletive. The angel really had rubbed off on the boy.

Harry dashed out the door and down the stairs, before he skidded around the corner, his bare feet slipping on the cold stone floor. He stopped and stared open mouthed at the huge Christmas Tree resting in the corner, and the several presents that were just waiting to be opened. It would be the first Christmas Harry had actually received any presents, Harry thought. Actually, it would be the first time in two years that he actually acknowledged Christmas. Isaac had not been very good at keeping track of the days during their stay in Nym Doch, and it was always snowy on top of Mt. Everest. Harry ran over to the tree and immediately spotted several gifts that he recognized were from Draco.

He could tell just by the way they were wrapped: the corners were perfect, and the bow had been tied with a preciseness that only Draco could achieve, the neat freak! Plus, his large, beautiful handwriting gave it away. The green eyed boy grabbed the card first and ripped it open. _'Slow down, Harry! You're going to break something if you're not careful!'_ Isaac chastised the overeager first year, and Harry reluctantly slowed his movements. He proceeded much more carefully, and peeled the bright green envelope open with care. He pulled out the brown parchment typical of the high class wizard, and he held it delicately in his hand.

He flipped it open, and was met with the looping scrawl of his dear friend.

"Dear Harry," he read aloud:

"_Happy Christmas! I'm giving this to one of the house elves to deliver to the Gryffindor Common room, and hopefully it made it there. I can't imagine how the little bleeder could have screwed it up, but if you are not reading this from the common room, then I shall be very cross!_"

Harry paused in his reading to let out a slight giggle at the pureblood's characteristic attitude. He could almost see Draco's scowling face as he yelled at some poor house elf for sending the letter off to France or something like that. He knocked the thoughts from his head as he felt Isaac prod him.

"_Anyway, I have enclosed here a little something I thought you **both **could enjoy. I'll be seeing you later today._"

Harry suddenly cut off, as the rest of the writing was in some sort of strange circular glyph writing. His eyes flashed white as Isaac took over, and he smiled as he recognized the carefully spelled out Enochian so characteristic of Azrael. He too decided to read aloud.

"_Isaac, I hope you've had a good morning and everything. Happy Christmas and all that._" Isaac could almost see the angel of death rolling his eyes at the notion of the human holiday. It wasn't even close to the anniversary of Christ's birthday!

"_I just want to say that, like Draco, I too hope you enjoy the gift. We put a lot of effort into it, and I expect a very large thank you for this (meaning: several rounds of angels and demons)._" Isaac chuckled at his friend's words, before both he and Harry turned to the package.

The boy and angel worked in synchrony to rip open the package. It was small, able to fit in the palm of his hand, and was wrapped in green and gold foil. It would have been considered a normal colored Christmas present if it weren't for the fact that the green paper had little silver snakes all over them and the red had golden lions. The bow was made of black and white ribbons, and the angel smiled as he saw the tag was blue and gold. This package really symbolized the unity of the two boys.

Harry, who had taken firm control of the vessel (he was a little wary of the half and half movements that their joint control had brought on,) tore the packaging off in one fluid movement, to reveal a small brown leather box. His bright green eyes marveled at its exquisite beauty, and he felt Isaac's anticipation welling up inside of him.

Carved on the front of the box was a lion with a snake coiled around its middle. In place of the lion's eyes, there were two tiny gems. One was a brightly glowing emerald, and the other was a deep, vibrant blue sapphire. The snake's eyes were the same, only the gems were replaced by two tiny nuggets of metal: one silver, one gold. Flanking the two animals were wings on either side. On the left, a pure white wing, and on the right: jet black.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Harry flipped the box open. He gasped…

Inside was a small, silver locket with the crest on the box cover repeated. Harry reached in and pulled it out, allowing it to dangle from the simple chain that attached to it. As it hung, it flipped open to reveal a picture that made Harry's breath almost stop.

It was a picture of him and Draco, lying on the grounds of the estate, with Draco pinning him down while Harry looked up at him with a half-kidding frown on his face. Like most wizarding photo's, it was in motion, and Harry watched as picture-Harry struggled with the boy on top of him before giving up and lying there, his arms flopped out to the side in resignation, a signal of surrender. Harry recognized it from the time that Azrael had cheated (one of the many times, actually) and had captured Isaac, instead of the other way around.

Harry's eyes flashed white, and the angel came to the front so that he too could admire it. Isaac gasped as he saw the picture shimmer, and suddenly it was no longer Harry and Draco lying in the field, but he and Azrael. Their wings were spread across the ground, and the sunlight glanced off of the two angel's brilliant feathers as if trying to escape from the photo. As he watched the photo, he saw Azrael stick his tongue out at picture-Isaac, who then started to yell at him.

Isaac's eyes widened as the picture-Azrael bent down and kissed picture-Isaac on the lips. It wasn't deep or sensual in any way, just a quick, chaste action between the two angels as they basked in their own life. He was, however, slightly concerned, as he didn't remember that particular scenario at all! Still, in a way, he sort of liked it. A warm feeling wrapped around his core, and his grace began to hum with a contented glow. He watched the image for a minute longer, and then snapped it shut and put it around his neck. It glowed warmly against his bare skin, eliciting a contented sigh from the angel.

His eyes flashed white as Harry moved on to his next present. It was another one from Azrael, only this one was full of sweets. He was sucking on a very strange candy cane when he came upon his last present. It was a brown paper package tied up with a simple red ribbon. '_Harry Potter' _was scrolled across the tag in nice, neat print. The handwriting was fancy, with lots of loops, but it didn't have the same graceful swooshes that Draco's always seemed to have. Plus, if it was from him then he would have said so, so it obviously wasn't from the Slytherin. '_Well don't just sit there all day,'_ the angel said, annoyed at his vessel's delay. '_Open the package, will ya?!'_ he cried, and Harry ripped it open without another moment's delay.

He held up the material to eye level, and marveled at the smooth texture. It was soft, softer than even the finest lace, and felt as if he was holding some sort of solidified water (not ice, obviously). He felt a trace of something familiar emanating from the cloth, and it began to grow warmer the longer he held it, as if it were a warm child's blanket that mother's would wrap around their children at night.

He picked up the card, which was written in the same loopy handwriting as the tag.

"Mr. Potter," he read out loud. "Your father gave this to me before he died, and in his will he specified that it be returned to you. I feel it is only appropriate, then, to bestow it upon you. Use it well."

The young wizard scrutinized the card, scanning it before flipping it over. _'Well, who's it from?'_ Isaac asked, and Harry shook his head. "I don't know, I can't find a name. Just: '_Use it well'_" he said. _'Odd,'_ thought the angel, before he was once again distracted by the cloak. Something about it felt very familiar, but try as he might, he could not place his finger on it.

Harry decided to test it out, and grabbing it off the floor, he slipped it around his shoulders and conjured a mirror to admire himself. The image that he was confronted with from the depths of the mirror almost made his heart leap out of his chest. Instead of seeing a nice, splendid cloak, all he saw was a floating head. "My body's gone!" he squeaked, his voice rising in terror. He looked down, and gasped as he admired the ground behind him.

_'Calm down Harry. It's not gone, you're just invisible,_' Isaac said, rolling his eyes at the young wizard's panic. His grace, however, was pinging with excitement, and Isaac couldn't help but get the feeling that he was missing something incredibly obvious. A flash of hot and cold energy flowed from the cloak and into the vessel, and suddenly Isaac recognized why it felt so familiar.

The cloak felt exactly like Azrael's grace. It was imbued with the power of death, coupled with the magic of the mages. But if it was an artifact of death, and it made the wearer invisible…

Isaac trailed off as he realized just what he had around his body. _'Harry, it looks like we found Azrael and Draco the best Christmas present they could possibly ask for,'_ he said, and the boy's eyes flashed white before fading to blue as the angel took control. He grasped the cloak tighter, terrified that if he loosened his hold it would slide through his fingers and be lost to the world forever once again. Shifting his wings, he considered flying while wearing the cloak, but eventually decided against it. Odds are that if the artifact felt any grace other than the angel of death, then it would most likely lash out. So he pulled it off his shoulders and wrapped it into a nice neat ball before sending it off to join his angel blade on the nether-plane. He flared his wings, and descended through the castle using his grace, rushing towards the Great Hall. Azrael needed to see this.

Immediately!

* * *

Alcasan stood in the middle of the street, frustrated at how the trail had brought him straight back to Number 4 Privet Drive. He cursed in Enochian, and stalked back and forth, trying to pick up a trace of the angel's grace. It didn't help the fact that the whole place was almost smothered by the demonic wrath of three mid-level demons, effectively masking any trace he could have picked up easily and playing hell with the hunter's senses.

"Spread out and keep looking. Fan out into the surrounding forest, and don't come back until you find a trace!" he yelled, and there was a flurry of wings as the angels departed the house.

Two of the angels went in the same direction, one of them having grabbed onto the other before flaring his grace. With a sound of feathers flapping, the two angels appeared in a small clearing in the forest, far outside the radius that Alcasan had set for them. And, more importantly, away from prying eyes. One of the angels, the one who had been grabbed, spun around to face the other, who still had his hands on him. "Samir!" the angel exclaimed, his black and white speckled wings rustling behind him. "What is the meaning of this? You know that we are not allowed to disobey Alcasan's direct orders!" he said, wondering what in heaven the brown winged angel was thinking.

He opened his mouth again but was hushed by the other angel, who placed a single finger on his lips. "Quiet, Martin, or the others will hear you," Samir said, his brown eyes flickering from side to side, scanning the trees for any flash of wings. "I need to speak with you of Alcasan, brother."

Martin nodded, his eyes widening in comprehension, and moved away from the other angel, uncomfortable with the close proximity. "He has grown blind with his obsession," Samir said, now pacing back and forth across the forest ground, his brown wings flayed out behind him in agitation. Samir was a high ranking angel, but not as high as a seraph, and was a close friend of the Siam Dot. It hurt him to see the smoky gray winged angel commit such terrible deeds, and even more so because he had seen the pattern before.

Samir had stood by his brother's side through many a war, and he recalled in vivid detail how he and Alcasan had helped Raphael in the slaying of Oje, the knight of hell. He loved his brother dearly, maybe a little more than any of the other angels, and thus it hurt him to betray him like this. "His transgressions cannot be forgiven this time," he said, his scowl deepening. "We need to report this to Castiel. We should have done it the moment it happened. Father made it very clear: we are not to steal another angel's grace. To do so is a sin against heaven."

Martin nodded, but inside his thoughts were reeling. He was a young angel, barely five hundred years old, and was as yet unfamiliar with the workings of earth. This had been his first assignment on earth, and he was loving every second of it. He was shocked, however, at Alcasan's blatant disregard for human life, that all angels had been instructed by god to protect. And he was even more surprised to hear about it from Samir, who by all accounts was the hunter's closest thing to a friend. "What do you propose we do about it?" he asked, his black and white speckled wings shuffling behind him. "We cannot disobey a direct order and return to heaven."

Samir shifted his brown wings. "I have considered this, and have come up with a solution," he said, ceasing his pace around the clearing. "Rather than report to heaven, we call down one of the seraphs from heaven to tell them ourselves." Martin nodded at the logic of this, but then looked quizzically at the older angel. "But who? Who can we trust?" he asked.

Samir responded by bowing his head and placing his hands in the classic praying position. "Castiel, honorable brother, hear our prayers and come to our assistance. We have dire news we wish to inform you of," he prayed, and almost immediately a flutter of wings was heard. The brown winged angel looked up, his eyes meeting the impossibly blue sapphire's of Castiel's vessel. His blue tie was backwards, as per usual, and his overcoat looked a little ruffled. The angel folded his black wings into his body, regarding his brothers.

Castiel's wings were a rarity in heaven, as most angels had wings of varying hawks, falcons, and other birds of prey. The black wings of the seraph were beautiful, and were only topped in volume by the dark wings of the angel of death himself. However, where Azrael's wings were dark and sleek all the way through, Castiel's were slimmer, and seemed to shimmer in the light. It had an almost blue tint near the end of the wingtips, appearing glossier and sleeker there than the rest of the wing. It was said they glowed in the sunlight, as if god had attempted to recreate Lucifer's luster when he made them.

Samir and Martin bowed before their superior. "Castiel, we thank you for answering so quickly," the brown winged angel said.

Castiel nodded, and the two rose up before him. "What is it you need?" the angel asked in his gravelly voice.

"To talk," Samir said, before stepping closer to the trench-coat clad angel. "Alcasan has gone too far," he said softly, and Castiel's eyes widened. "Explain," he said, now completely focused on the two angels in front of him.

"We found Isaac's vessel," Martin said, stepping forward to address the seraph. "It was a child by the name of Harry Potter. Alcasan ordered us to immediately begin to look for him, but one of us, Rebecca, refused to hunt after an innocent child." Here the young angel's voice died out, the memories of the following events too difficult for him to bear.

"He attacked her," Samir provided, and Castiel switched his attention to the older of the pair. "She fought furiously, but in the end she was wounded too severely to escape. He stole her grace, Castiel, and then smote her where she stood, using her own grace to do it."

Castiel's grace flared in anger as he heard this. 'This is exactly why we don't use the Siam Dot!' he thought, sickened at the actions of the hunter. 'They are almost worse than the ones they hunt. I just knew this would happen.'

"Zachariah!" he growled, looking down as he recalled how the seraphim had ordered him to utilize the hunter. He had probably known that this would happen, but the arrogant prick most likely didn't care.

The dark winged angel shook his head and pulled his gaze back towards the two. "This is disturbing news, and I don't have an answer for you," he said, his black wings shifting behind him, betraying his agitation. "I must go and seek revelation. Continue on your appointed tasks, but do not let Alcasan become too clouded by his fixation. He may yet be saved."

And with a flare of his grace, Castiel was gone, hurtling back to heaven with the distressing news playing over and over in his head, leaving the two angels alone in the clearing. "Well, what do we do now?" asked Martin, looking to the older angel for guidance. "We follow orders," Samir said, his dark eyes staring up at the sky. "And we watch the hunter." Martin nodded, and together they disappeared from the clearing, leaving behind just a whiff of grace.

* * *

**Thank you all for your continued support. I know this chapter had a sever lack of Alcasan nastiness, but I wanted to try to cut away from him for a bit. He's off doing some angel thing, trying to pick up a scent, while meanwhile at Hogwarts a demon is chasing our favorite white winged angel around like a very sick game of cat and mouse.**

**I expect to be finishing the first year soon, and if not in the next chapter then the one after that. **

**By the way, the rating on this fiction may go up in third year, as that's really the youngest I can start with the actual slash, what with the main characters being *ahem* eleven year old boys.**

**Also, for all of those who won't stop yammering about it, I'm sticking to the cannon timelines. That means that this is 1996, and there will be no Winchesters or any mentions of such. And besides, even if this was in the supernatural timeline, why the heck would the Winchesters go all the way to Great Britain to solve a case that could probably be taken care of by the local hunters?**

**Ah well, I guess it doesn't matter. End of first year next chapter! **

**Rate and (I really can't stress the following word enough) Review!- **Arudon

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**P.S- Just a quick question, but who do you think is scarier: Alcasan or Valefar? I honestly want to know.**


	12. God Save the Queen!

**I am so sorry for the long wait. Two weeks is just unacceptable. I will try to release more often.**

**Well here's the next part. Enjoy!**

* * *

In a flutter of wings, Castiel landed in the main atrium of heaven. The seraph took a moment to rearrange his coat and tie, and then set off at a brisk pace towards the throne room of heaven. As he walked, he drew several curious stares from passing angels, who regarded the famed angel with looks of awe on their face.

The dark winged angel approached the main gate of the throne room and began to ascend the stairs to the massive twin doors. He halted suddenly as he found his passage blocked by a balding, scowling figure. "Zachariah," Castiel acknowledged, looking at the other seraph with a cold gaze. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I believe _I_ should be the one to ask that question, Castiel," Zachariah said, staring down at the younger angel. Castiel's wings shifted into a more aggressive stance, clearly not appreciating the delay that Zachariah was causing him. "I have business with Michael," he growled, his gravelly voice echoing across the courtyard. Zachariah's own cream colored wings spread out behind him as well, and a scowl fixed itself on his face. "Watch your tone, little one. Michael is busy at the moment, and is not to be disturbed. You can tell me what the problem is, and I'll relay it to him," the seraph said.

Castiel's frown deepened. "The message is for the archangel's ears alone. Now step aside Zachariah, and let me pass." The dark winged angel moved to push past the other, but a firm hand on the center of his chest stopped him. "You will not be entering!" Zachariah growled, his grace flaring in anger at the younger angel's persistence. His gray eyes stared into orbs of purest blue as he locked gazes with the other seraph.

"Is something the matter?" asked a deep voice coming from the base of the steps. Castiel saw Zachariah's eyes widen as he peered over the other angel's shoulder, and the dark winged angel whipped around. His own eyes widened as well, and both he and Zachariah knelt to the ground in front of the figure.

Standing before them was a tall black man in a fine suit. Stretching out behind him were six sky blue wings, each of which practically radiated with righteous power. Raphael approached the pair, coming up the steps slowly, before stopping before them. Both seraphs stood before the archangel, their wings held back in a manner of respect. Zachariah opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to it by Castiel. "I have important news I need to deliver to Michael, but Zachariah is refusing to grant me entrance," he said, his words drawing a scowl from his fellow seraph. Raphael shifted his cold gaze to the balding angel. "Is this true, Zachariah?" he asked, his powerful baritone voice sending shivers through both the angels before him.

Zachariah shot a furious look at the dark winged angel, before returning his gaze back to the archangel and nodding his head. "Why?" asked Raphael.

Zachariah clenched and unclenched his hand. "I am Michael's advisor, and I did not think it necessary to-" "And that is where your problem is, brother," Raphael said, cutting off the balding seraph. "You presume that because of your influence on my brother that you are higher than the others, when it is simply not the case. Do not forget that, Zachariah," the archangel said warningly, before waving his hand in an obvious signal of dismissal. Zachariah shot one last hate filled glance at Castiel, before flaring his wings and vanishing.

Raphael walked up the last few steps, coming to stand beside the dark winged angel. "I too have an appointment with Michael," Raphael said, his sky blue wings shifting behind him. "You might as well deliver your news with me." The archangel turned away from the younger angel and placed his hand in the center of the door, sending a pulse of grace through it. The door chimed in recognition, and slowly swung inwards. "Come," ordered the archangel, before striding forward into the throne room, Castiel following at his heels.

Michael looked up as he heard their approaching footsteps, and his face actually spread into a grin as he laid eyes on his fellow archangel and favorite seraph. "Raphael, Castiel!" he called, his six red wings spreading in a gesture of welcome. Raphael dipped his head a little, while Castiel knelt down on one knee and spread his wings to the fullest, just as he had done with Raphael a minute before. Michael allowed his gaze to linger on those dark wings, taking in their luster, before shifting his gaze back to his brother. Castiel stood and backed away, letting the two archangels have their space.

"What is it, Raphael?" Michael asked, curious as to what the fourth born archangel would need. "Michael," the dark skinned angel began. "We have word from Cassio's garrison that something is stirring in purgatory," he said solemnly, his baritone voice booming out across the hall. Michael's huge red wings all twitched at the mention of the place, for even an archangel would be hard pressed to survive the evil that surrounded that place.

"What is causing it, brother?" Michael asked, his wings flaring in agitation. Raphael simply shook his head solemnly. "I know not, bother, but I suspect it was caused by Eve. The dragons have re-awoken in the North, and are wreaking havoc all across the northern seaboard. Also, in America, Azazel is on the move, and we believe if left unchecked that he will open the hell gate in Wyoming."

Michael nodded at his brother's words. "Very well, I will deliberate the best course of action. Have Cassio set up a constant monitor on the Purgatory portal. I don't want so much as a single ghoul to slip out of that place!" he cried, and Raphael nodded. Bowing fully, the archangel spread his six blue wings behind him in recognition of Heaven's ruler, before straightening up. Turning, he marched out of the gates, which parted at a wave of his hand, leaving Michael and Castiel alone together.

The seraph in question shifted forward, his blue eyes level with the ground in a show of respect. "Castiel," Michael said softly, his voice gentle and soothing, like a warm summer breeze. "Raise your eyes to me, brother. You need not show such formality here." Castiel nodded, and his impossibly blue orbs met the soft green of the archangel. Michael nodded in satisfaction, before shifting to a more comfortable position on his throne. "Now, what is it that you have to tell me?" he asked, peering closely at the dark winged angel.

Castiel seemed to straighten even more, and his eyes swept over the archangel's body for a moment. "I have just received word from Samir and Martin, two angels under Alcasan's squad, that one of our sisters has been slain," he said solemnly, his gravelly voice echoing across the hall in his typical gruff manner.

Michael sat up fully in his chair, all semblance of ease gone from his limbs, and he stared at Castiel with a newfound intensity. "What? How?" he asked, demanding an immediate answer from the trenchcoat loving angel. "Was it Isaac? Or Azrael?" he questioned, but Castiel merely shook his head.

"It was Alcasan himself who slew her. Apparently, they have discovered who Isaac's vessel is, and it truly is only a child. However, one of them, Rebecca, refused to continue the chase. She did not believe it right to hunt after an innocent child, and told this to Alcasan. However, this only served to enrage the hunter, and after a furious fight, Alcasan stole her grace, absorbing into himself, and then used her own power to smite her."

Michael's gaze grew venomous. A thunderous crash echoed around the throne room as one of his huge red wings smashed through a support column, hurling white washed marble across the room. "And just why, exactly, would he DO THAT?!" Michael shouted, his enormous grace flaring up in anger. Castiel held his hands up in a placating gesture, not wanting to further enrage the most powerful angel in existence. "We believe that he thought it would help him take down Isaac and Azrael. We both know those two are each almost as strong as an archangel, and together they could prove to be nigh on unstoppable. I am not defending his actions, but from a purely logical standpoint Alcasan's actions do make sense."

The dark winged angel ducked as a piece of marble went flying over his head. "DON'T YOU DARE ATTEMPT TO EXCUSE HIM CASTIEL!" Michael shouted, his rage echoing across heaven. Suddenly, he turned his blazing eyes on the trenchcoat wearing angel. "Send out a search for him. I want Alcasan brought before me to explain his actions in full. Then I will decide what to do with him."

Castiel nodded and backed out of the throne room, his head bowed and his thoughts reeling. He had never seen Michael this enraged before, as the ruler of heaven was almost always cold and detached. The dark winged angel shook his head, clearing it of miscellaneous thoughts, and set off to complete Michael's orders.

* * *

Isaac was falling through the school, his wings propelling his essence down through the floors and in between the bricks. The magic of the school was playing hell with his grace, and if he were any lesser angel he would have found grace jumping here impossible. Fortunately, thanks to his incredible amount of purity, he had more than enough juice to push through the barriers. His determination also fueled him, and with a grunt, he broke through the final barrier and appeared in the great hall with a flutter of wings.

He looked back and forth, making sure no one had seen him. The hall before him was empty, devoid of any life. At least, that's what the angel thought until he heard a cough behind him. Spinning around, he had just enough time to register blond hair and black wings before the figure knocked him to the ground and pinned him. He moaned as he felt a pair of hands card through his pure white wings, and he stared up at Azrael's smiling face with half lidded eyes. "Happy Christmas to you too, Azrael," he whispered, the shadow of a grin beginning to spread across his face. The angel of death laughed, before he scratched a particularly sensitive spot near the base of Isaac's right wing. The child of heaven arched his back and leaned into the touch, a gasp spilling out from his lips before he could silence it.

Shaking his head, the white winged angel attempted to clear his mind, shoving the pleasure away in favor of focusing on his task at hand. "Azrael, I have something to show you."

The black winged angel looked curiously at the small boy beneath him, before nodding and moving off. Isaac stood up, stretching his ruffled wings and smoothing a few wayward feathers back into place. "Well?" Azrael asked, curious as to what the child of heaven had to show him.

Isaac sent a tendril of his grace out, calling forth the cloak from its metaphorical plane. With a soft ruffle, it faded into existence, flowing over his hands in a cascade of water-like beauty. Azrael's breath hitched as he caught sight of it, his grace flaring in response to the power of his father. He reached out a hand for the cloak, before snatching it back; as if afraid the article would burn him.

Deep golden eyes met the brilliant sapphires of Isaac, and the white winged angel nodded in understanding. "I received this from an unknown source," he explained, sitting down on one of the tables and laying the cloak over his legs. A small smile appeared on Azrael's face as the other's legs disappeared from view, hidden by the cloak's power. "Apparently, this cloak belonged to Harry's father when he was still alive. We have discussed it, and have agreed that while it is a link to Harry's past, the cloak would be better served in the hands of one who can wield it properly."

A pale eyebrow shot up at this. "What do you mean by that?" the angel of death asked. Isaac glanced down at the cloak before shifting a little uncomfortably, his wings ruffling behind his back. "If I were to wear it as an angel, the cloak would lash out and burn me, as it was not made to accommodate my grace. As an artifact of death, it responds only to you." Azrael nodded at the logic, and moved closer to the other. Stretching out his hand, he allowed his fingertips to brush along the cloak, his sensitive digits reveling in the softness. His grace flared in response to the contact, and a slight breeze ruffled his dark feathers, sending a few askew.

"Would you mind telling me exactly what it is, though?" Isaac asked. "I recognize it as an artifact of death, but beyond that I cannot say."

Azrael nodded and sat down next to him, his feet dangling off the side of the table. "I think the tale can best be explained through a children's story the wizard's came up with. Are you familiar with Beedle the Bard?" he asked, and Isaac shook his head. "Then I will allow Draco to explain it to you. If I remember correctly, this story was a particular favorite of his."

Azrael's golden eyes flashed white, before fading to silver as Draco took control. "Well, it's a child's tale really, but Azrael has verified the tale's authenticity." Isaac nodded and shifted so he could sit more comfortably on the table, his grace creating a cushioning affect beneath him and his wings stretched languidly out behind him.

"There once were three brothers," Draco began, shifting into storytelling mode. "And they were walking along the road at midnight." '_Twilight,'_ Azrael cut in, his mind echoing both in the head of his vessel and his audience. '_It's supposed to be twilight.' _

"Would you shut up! Or would you like to tell the story?" Draco asked, irritated by the angel's interruptions. '_No. Do continue oh great storyteller,'_ the angel of death said sarcastically, drawing a chuckle from Isaac, who was silenced by a death glare from Draco.

The blond aristocrat shook his head, before continuing. "They were walking along the road at twilight, when they came to a river that was too deep to cross. They, however, were learned in magic, and simply waved their wands and made a bridge from the river stones. When they tried to cross, though, they were stopped by a hooded figure. It was Death."

_'He doesn't actually have a hood, you know. In reality he looks a lot like an undertaker, but I guess a hooded figure sounds more ominous. Alright, alright, I'll shut up,'_ the angel said quickly as he was mentally smacked by his vessel.

Draco scowled. "Can I continue now?" he asked, and when the black winged angel did respond, he nodded his head. "Good. Now, as I was saying, it was Death. He felt cheated, because people would usually drown in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three on besting him, and offered each a reward for their deed. The first brother stepped forward, and asked for a wand that was more powerful than any other, so Death fashioned him one from an elder tree by the riverside, and filled it with his power. The second brother decided he wished to humiliate Death even further, and asked for the ability to return those who have already died to life. So Death plucked a stone from the river, and told him that it had the power to bring back those from beyond the grave. Finally, Death turned to the third brother, and asked what he wanted. A humble man, he asked for something that would allow him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. So, reluctantly, Death gave him his own invisibility cloak.

"And so the three brothers went their separate ways. The first brother went to a village, where he met another wizard with whom he had had a quarrel with. Using the power of the elder wand, he slew him, and afterwards boasted of its power. But that night, another wizard stole the wand, and slit the brother's throat for good measure. And so death took the first brother for his own.

The second brother journeyed to his home, where he took the stone in hand and turned it over three times. To his delight, the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared before him. Yet soon she turned sad, and cold, for she did not belong in the mortal world. Driven mad with hopeless longing, the second brother took his own life so as to join her in death, and so Death took the second brother.

"As for the third brother, Death searched for many years but was never able to find him. Only when he attained a great age did the youngest brother shed the cloak of invisibility, and give it to his son. He then greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, departing this life. As equals."

Draco stopped speaking and looked at the boy next to him. "And that is the tale of the three brothers." His eyes flashed white, as his resident angel took over again. "I believe that this tale was based on fact," Azrael said as soon as his eyes faded back to gold. "The wizards have their own names for these artifacts that you have just heard about. They call them the Deathly Hallows, and together, supposedly, they can make one the master of death. And you know what? They're almost right." Isaac raised one dark eyebrow at this, indicating the angel of death should elaborate.

"Each one has a portion of Death's power inside it." Azrael continued, his wings flaring out behind him as he spoke. "Supposedly, if you put on my father's ring, then you can get the same effect. His invisibility, the ability to raise and banish the dead, and the power to kill more effectively and completely than anyone else. These are all represented by the Deathly Hallows. The invisibility cloak, the resurrection stone, and the elder wand. And they are all part of my heritage."

"What do you mean by that?" Isaac asked, confused by his friend's obtuse statement. Azrael sighed and shifted his wings. "I've never told anyone this, but I do not have full control over my own power. The power of Death is erratic and hard to manage, and if I'm not careful, then I could essentially kill anyone and anything within a fifty mile radius of me. Thus, my father locked away most of it after he granted me the power of death, and sent out into the world the three artifacts of death. He told me that it was my job to locate, claim, and utilize these artifacts, as only they will be able to unlock my power. I didn't realize that they would also be woven in with the power of the mages. All these years I've been looking in all the wrong places." He let out a short laugh at the irony of it, staring at the cloak and shaking his head.

"And now I've found one." He shot a sideways look at the white winged angel. "Or rather, you've found one. And you're giving it to me?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Isaac said. He got off the table and moved to stand directly in front of the angel of death, holding the cloak loosely in front of him. "You are the most important being in my existence, Azrael, and after hearing your history, there is no way I could even consider keeping this. It's yours, and I'm giving it to you." And with that, Isaac swung his hand up, and draped the cloak around Azrael's shoulders. They phased through the black wings, before coming to rest perfectly on his back and shoulders. They watery cloth seemed to still, before contracting slightly.

Azrael closed his eyes, relishing in the sheer power that was now coursing through his veins. "Shield your eyes, Isaac," he whispered through clenched teeth, and the other angel's brilliant sapphires were hidden away quickly behind a pair of lids. The power pulsing within the angel of death began to pulse, building in intensity, and the black winged angel began to glow with power.

With a roar, Azrael snapped his pitch black wings back just as the power exploded outward from him, sending shudders running through the foundations of the school. All across the castle, portraits fell from their places and the staircases began to switch back and forth erratically. All the ghosts still present were pummeled by the sheer power of death, and some simply vanished in bursts of fire.

Every reaper within a one hundred mile radius snapped their heads up as they felt the resounding power of Death. Far away, on a lone hill, a tall man in undertaker clothes got out of a long white car. He smiled.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the power of death began to fade, withdrawing back into its vessel. Finally, with a last puff, the energy vanished completely, retracted back into the angel's grace. Azrael let out a huge sigh and slumped down in his seat. Behind him, his wings stretched out, and to Isaac's amazement seemed almost darker than originally. Azrael suddenly shot his arms out and grabbed the white winged angel, pulling him into a rib-crushing hug. "Thank you," he whispered, squeezing his friend hard.

Isaac smiled and reached a hand around behind the angel of death, sending his slender fingers carding through his friend's wings. His grin grew when he got the responding shudder and deep purring that usually accompanied the action, and Azrael slowly turned to mush in his arms as Isaac continued his administrations.

Pulling back, the black winged angel held the child of heaven at arms length, his hands on the others shoulders. "Let's get out of this castle for a little while," he said, his golden eyes flashing with a mischievous glint. Isaac shifted his wings in confusion. "You mean, out on the grounds?" he asked, bewilderment etched across his faced. "No," Azrael said with a shake of his head. "Let's go to London."

Isaac stared at him as if he had grown a second head. "And leave the protection of the castle?" he asked, astonished at his friend's foolhardiness. "Oh, come on Isaac, it's Christmas time, we deserve a break. Besides, I have a special spot that will be safer than the rest. Come on, you'll love it!" he cried, before grabbing Isaac's hand and hauling him to his feet. "I just don't think…" Isaac stuttered, but was cut off by the black winged angel. "Oh stop being such a worry-wuss. Honestly, you sound like a fledgling!" he said jokingly. "I DO NOT!" cried Isaac, but was cut off as Azrael flared his wings and took off, dragging Isaac along with him.

The great hall was suddenly quiet, and the faint scent of an angel's grace floated along the air. Moving out from the shadows, Severus Snape walked up to where the pair had been standing just a moment before. "What in the sacred name of Merlin was that?" he asked himself, his head still reeling at how two first year students had just managed to apparate in Hogwarts. Or better yet, how they had managed to apparate at all. He turned about and strode out of the hall, determined to inform the headmaster of this curious piece of news about Hogwarts' star couple.

* * *

With a flap of wings, Azrael and Isaac touched down inside a vast hall. They both took a second to simply admire their surroundings. They were standing in an elaborately decorated hallway, with a deep red, richly emroidered carpet stretching out beneath them. Along the walls stood paintings of Elizabethan era aristocrats, their portraits framed with gold leaf. Above them, the ceiling was also painted, and every now and then a rich chocolate table stood along the wall, overflowing with exotic plants.

"Azrael, where are we?" Isaac whispered, keeping his voice low as if he were in the library of heaven. "I'll give you a hint," Azrael whispered back, he too in awe of this place. "This is home to the highest seat of power in the British Isles, and currently the prime owner this estate has three dogs. Take a guess."

Isaac looked incredulously at the angel of death. "You're kidding me. We're in Buckingham Palace?"

Azrael's grin was all the confirmation he needed. "Oh, you crafty, crafty devil!" Isaac whispered, a huge grin blossoming on his face. "Should we go for the guided tour?" Azrael asked, his golden eyes flashing mischievously. "Or would you like to do a little exploring of your own?"

Isaac's grin stretched from ear to ear, and suddenly he snapped his hand out and placed it directly on the blonde's chest. "Tag, you're it," he whispered, before taking off down the hall, his laughter ringing out like bell chimes. Azrael let out a laugh as well before taking off after the rapidly retreating angel, whose white wings had just disappeared around the corner.

For the rest of the day the two angels proceeded to wreck Buckingham Palace. They wreaked havoc in the dining rooms, played chess on top of paintings, had pillow fights in the sitting rooms, even going so far as to play 'pin the tail on the palace guard.' Isaac really got a kick out of comparing Azrael's feathers to those of the palace guards. Literally. Azrael kicked him in the shin. The staff were horrified at their rowdy visitors, and much of Christmas Day was devoted to chasing two unknown children around and around the palace grounds.

The ducks in the duck pond were traumatized by the white and black winged angels, as they had been scooped directly out of the water and dropped from a great height repeatedly. The worst part was when Isaac took down the British flag from the top of the main steeple and ran around the grounds with it as a cape, leading a conga line of Palace guards, enraged chimney sweepers, and haggard Scotland Yard officials.

Queen Elizabeth looked up as the door to her sitting room was flung open and a young boy with black hair and bright blue eyes dashed in. He stopped in the middle of the room, looking to his right to admire the crest on the mantle-piece. His eyes caught the reflection of the room's other occupant in a small mirror, and he spun around. His eyes widened in awe as he beheld the Queen of England sitting on her sofa having a cup of tea. A cheeky grin suddenly spread across his face, and unseen by the queen, his bright white wings shimmered happily. "God save the Queen!" he cried, chuckling at the irony of the statement, before dashing out of the room.

Another slam was heard, and on the other side of the room the secondary door swung open as well, revealing another boy with platinum blond hair and striking golden eyes. He too stared in awe at the country's ruler, before dropping into a small bow. "I'm sorry to bother you, your majesty, but you wouldn't have happened to see Isaac by any chance, would you?" he asked, folding his hands behind his back and looking the picture of polite innocence. "Who?" the queen asked, confused by the name. "Small boy, black hair, blue eyes, scar on his head, possibly with big white wings on his back," the boy said, looking at the queen expectantly. The Queen of England was just about to answer when she was interrupted by a call from outside. "Azrael, come look at this!" cried the young boy from earlier's voice .

Azrael flared his dark wings excitedly. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said politely, before dashing out through the door. "Isaac, I just met the Queen of England," Elizabeth heard him cry, before their voices faded away as they ran off to another part of the palace.

"Azrael? Isaac?" she asked herself, unsure of what to make of the pair she had just witnessed. She looked up as several palace guards went rushing by, accompanied by several Scotland Yard officials, unaware that her words had just triggered several tracking spells cued in for those particular names.

* * *

**Thought I would split this chapter in two, to make it easier on the eyes. Hope you agree.**


	13. The Price We Pay

**Here's the next chunk. Warning, this chapter is very, very violent. Be prepared for a lot of death right off the bat. With that said, let's jump right in!**

**Tally Ho!**

* * *

Far away, a certain hunter angel perked his head up, a grin spreading on his face. Gunmetal gray wings stretched in preparation for takeoff, and with a barked word in Enochian, his whole squad was assembled. "We have a fix. Let's move!" he cried, before snapping his wings down and flaring his grace. All around him, his minions followed suit, trailing after the hunter angel.

With a flutter of feathers, the group landed in the middle of a massive banquet hall. All around them palace guards and Scotland yard officials stared in horror and shock at the large group of twenty people that had just appeared out of nowhere. "As if this day couldn't get any bloody worse," one said, before moving forward. "Oi! You lot! Where the hell did you just come from. This is Buckingham Palace, and it's closed for Christmas. Clear off!" he cried.

Alcasan looked around, an amused smile on his face. "Buckingham Palace? Really Isaac?" he asked rhetorically, before looking back to the approaching official, who had by now drawn a gun. "I'm warning you sir, clear out this instant, and I'll let you off easy," he said as he leveled his gun with the angel's chest. Alcasan merely smirked. "It would not be wise to continue your current course of action," he said softly, his smoky gray wings shifting into a battle stance. "Right, that's it!" cried the official, before he lowered his gun slightly and fired a round into the angel's leg.

His face turned white as the bullet seemed to vaporize on contact. He snapped his eyes back to the angel's face. All traces of a smirk were gone from the hunter's face, and his cold gaze sent goose-bumps running up and down the officer's spine. "Now that was rude," Alcasan hissed, before flicking his hand and sending the man flying across the room.

"Open fire," shouted one of the palace guards, and all around them gun-shots exploded from the barrels of the rifles, the panicked humans attempting to corral the invaders. "Hmm," Alcasan hummed as he bit his lip. Then, with a single gesture, the angels switched into smiting mode. The gunfire ceased as screams and explosions of white light began to fill the room, and within a matter of seconds the hall was strewn with dead bodies, their eyes burned out and their brains liquidated.

Alcasan inhaled through his nose, his mind filtering through the smells of burning flesh and angelic grace to find the scent he was after. His eyes flicked open as he found it, and he could practically see the trail of grace floating in the air, purer than the rest, accompanied by another grace signature that was both hot and cold at the same time. "Azrael and Isaac," he hissed, before moving forward. "Spread out across the palace!" he cried as he kicked the body of a palace guard out of the way. "Keep you radios on and report to me if you catch even a whiff of their grace." And with that said, he strode through the door and down the hallway, following his nose.

Slowly the hall emptied, leaving the bodies strewn everywhere. With a flash of grace, a chuckling Isaac and Azrael appeared. Their smiles fell as they looked around, replaced by expressions of horror. Isaac clutched his stomach as if he were going to be sick, and Azrael visibly shuddered. "Those bastards," he whispered, eyes burning with hatred as he looked down on a dead maid-servant. She hadn't even been armed, but had simply been caught up in the fighting.

"Come on, we have to leave," he whispered to Isaac, but the white winged angel shook his head vigorously. "No. If they can't find us, they'll just rip the place apart, killing everyone and everything. Besides, as long as the Siam Dot is here we won't be able to leave. He must have set up wards around this place to keep us from leaving. As long as he's here, we're not going anywhere. We'll have to fight them," he said. "Fight them?" Azrael asked incredulously. "There has to be at least twenty angels here to do this kind of damage," he said.

"So you take ten and I'll take ten. Come on, we're both nearly as strong as archangels, it shouldn't be too hard. Besides, we owe it to these poor souls to avenge them. After all, it's our fault they were killed. We shouldn't have come!" he cried, shooting an accusatory look at Azrael. The black winged angel flinched. "We can talk about blame later. Right now we have to fight."

Isaac nodded, and with a flick of his wrist summoned his angel blade from its metaphorical sheathe. Azrael did the same, and his scythe slid into his hand. An eerie glow hung around the blade of the weapon, and it pulsed with the power of death, Azrael's newfound power giving it an extra boost. The child of heaven and angel of death separated, going out opposite doorways. They opened up a small channel on their angel radios, only connecting to each other so as to maintain contact.

Isaac crept along a corridor, the knuckles on his hand holding the angel blade clenched so tightly they were turning white. As he rounded the corner, he heard the faint flutter of wings and telltale flash of grace. He ducked as an angel blade went sweeping overhead, and he rolled to the side, putting some distance between him and the other angel. Another flutter of wings was heard, and then another, and soon Isaac was surrounded, the three angels blocking him off. They each had their angel blades out.

"Please, brothers, there is no need to fight," Isaac pleaded, hoping to reason with his angelic siblings. "Don't bother, Isaac," growled one of the angels. "We follow our orders, unlike you. You have fallen, and we are here to end you," he said, flaring his bright yellow wings. "No, you're wrong!" Isaac cried, spinning to face the one who had spoken. "I have not fallen. My grace has not diminished a single day since I left heaven, for I have the blessings of our Father. Please, listen to me, you don't need to follow Michael's orders. He is deceiving you all!" the white winged angel said desperately, looking at his three brothers with wide blue eyes. "Sorry, little brother, but your heretical words will not reach our ears," another angel said. "You are speaking as Lucifer once spoke, and we will not fall down to his level," he finished before shifting into a fighting stance.

Isaac sighed and his wings drooped. "Then you leave me no choice," he said softly, before darting forward. The angel directly before him swung his blade, but Isaac pushed it out of the way with his hand and thrust his own weapon forward. It was blocked in turn, but left the angel open to Isaac's other hand. The brown winged angel let out a gasp as a fist connected with his side, throwing him against the wall.

Isaac snapped his wings out, catching the second angel in the jaw, while the third one leapt forward. He swung his blade down, angling for Isaac's neckline, but a shift of weight on the smaller angel's part sent the blade swinging wide. Isaac snapped his arm up, driving his knife directly into the center of the angel's chest. He let out a scream and exploded, his wings burning into the ground behind him. Isaac ducked as the first angel came back again, and he scooped up the fallen angel's blade.

He blocked the first angel's strike with his left while stabbing at the second with his right. Working both arms independently, he held his two opponents at bay for a few seconds before snapping his arms across his body, performing a perfect double parry. Snapping his arms back across his body, he spun in place, hooking his arm under one of the angel's flailing limbs and spinning with him, sinking his blade into his side as he did so.

He put the trapped angel directly in line with the opposite angel's next strike, and the yellow-winged angel screamed as a blade sank into his chest. Isaac pushed him aside, and the blade impaled in his chest was dragged along with him, ripping it out of the final angel's hand and leaving him weaponless. He didn't even have a chance to raise his arms before a blade sank into his heart as well. Screaming, he fell to the ground and exploded.

Isaac stood there panting, coming down from his fighting mode, and the rest of his mind finally reached him. He stared in horror at his three fallen brothers, before shaking his head and telling himself to move on. He suddenly froze as his head tingled, his angel radio filling with static before he heard Azrael's voice say, "Alcasan…Queen…Help!"

Isaac flared his wings and performed a grace jump, landing right behind Azrael. The two angels stood back to back, facing a continent of maybe eleven angels, while on the ground before him lay four dead angels. The Queen of England was in the corner of the room, behind where the two angels were standing, and it was obvious that Azrael had been trying to defend her. Isaac glanced down at Azrael's bloody blade, before a pulse swept through the room.

Isaac raised his eyebrow in confusion at the pulse, before suddenly a searing pain racked across his whole body. He let out a scream and fell to the ground, and was vaguely aware that behind him Azrael was doing the same. It felt like his wings were being sawed off by a rusty buzz-saw, and his bones screamed as if they were on fire. Slowly, the pain faded to a dull throb, and the white-winged angel looked up through bleary eyes as a figure approached. When his vision finally cleared, his breath caught at the sight of Alcasan's leering face.

The hunter angel crouched down inches away from the immobilized angel, chuckling at how well his new tool had worked. He held it in his hand: a small, perfectly round sphere with Enochian sigils carved all over it. He leered down at the prostrate child as he fondled the ball, bouncing it in his palm. "Like it, Isaac? I made it especially for you. It's designed to suppress the grace of the target angel, leaving them completely powerless. I hope you appreciate how hard it was to make it. I had to use the blood of a fifty year old virgin, and that isn't easy to come by."

Isaac looked at him from behind his pain ridden gaze, his blue eyes sparkling in the light of the hall. "Why? Why are you doing this to us?" he whispered, every word hurting his throat. Alcasan chuckled as he gazed down at his helpless prey. "Why, you ask?" he said, extending his hand to card his fingers through the dark locks of Isaac's vessel. "I'm following my orders, doing what should be done. Don't act like you didn't think this would happen, Isaac. You rebel against heaven, you get the boot," he hissed, and he dug his fingers harshly into the child's scalp, yanking and tugging on his hair. "And now, it's at an end. You're coming with me, Isaac, and you, Azrael, whether you want to or not," he said.

"No," whispered Isaac.

Alcasan raised one eyebrow. "No, you say? And just how are you going to stop me?" he asked, a smile spread across his features. To his shock, Isaac actually began to chuckle. "You forgot something very big, Alcasan. There's not only one person in here," he said, as his eyes flashed white before fading to green. "There's two," Harry said, before raising his hand and blasting Alcasan straight in the face with a bolt of pure magic.

The gray winged angel went sailing across the room, and Harry sprang up, wand in hand, and began firing spells into the surrounding angels. They shrieked as they were thrown out windows, set on fire, turned into armchairs, and many other worse afflictions. Draco sprang up as well, and together the two wizards blasted away at the assembled hit squad of angels. '_Kick their asses, Harry!'_ Isaac cried as Harry sent another angel through a wall. Suddenly, a ball came bouncing out of the ruckus, and Harry locked his eyes on it. '_Destroy that thing,'_ Isaac cried.

_"Expulso!" _Harry cried, and the orb exploded into a thousand fragments. With a rush, the two angel's grace returned to them, and their eyes flashed white before fading to blue and gold. "Shield your eyes," Azrael cried to the Queen, who nodded and placed both hands over her eyes and turned to face the wall.

The two angels suddenly flared their grace in an almighty flash of light, and stood there as pillars of pure energy, their wings spreading out behind them and pulsing with power. Azrael lashed out, and his power over death immolated five angels at once. Then, the pair raised their hands simultaneously and began sending out flashes of white, banishing the angels from the mortal plane of existence, blasting them back into heaven. The only one who escaped was Alcasan, who flared his wings and disappeared with a final, hateful glance at the pair. With one last blast, the last two angels were shot back to heaven, and the hall was clear.

Slowly, the power of the two angels died down, drawing back into the pair. The glow faded from their skin, and both angels' wings drooped, exhausted. "Well, Isaac, we did it," Azrael said, before falling backwards and passing out.

Isaac looked down at his friend. "Yeah, I think we did," the white winged angel said, before following suit and losing consciousness.

The Queen looked up and away from the wall, and her breath caught as she spied her two saviors. "Guards," she cried, though she doubted any would be around to respond to her. She stood up cautiously, not trusting her old bones, and stepped carefully over to the two unconscious boys.

She looked down on them, her eyes taking in the delicate features of the two boys, and the way their chest rose and fell gently as they lay prostrate on the ground. "My little angels. Thank you," she whispered, and placed a hand on each of the boys' heads.

* * *

Alcasan landed with a flutter of feathers, his smoky gray wings trailing residual grace as they folded up behind him. He stood there panting for a few moments, his chest heaving at the strain that was put on his vessel. Slowly, his breathing calmed and his head began to clear. Looking around, he saw that he was at the edge of a forest overlooking the sea, and before him there was a drop-off of a cliff. Stepping forward, he crouched down an looked over the edge, his dark eyes watching the crashing of waves against the rock face. His mind brought forth the picture of his dead brothers and sisters.

"How much blood must be paid before we can call it just?" he asked quietly, looking out across the sea.

"And what justification can we offer for the transgressions we have made to complete our goal? What has become of our brothers who died defending the cause of god, only to be abandoned to desolation. I hope they have found peace in the afterlife. This is the price we pay for our journey."

He gazed out at the sun, as a cloud passed over it, making its rays shimmer across the water. "We pay with our lives for the words of a god many of us have never even seen, and they call it faith. We have sworn to uphold this faith with our lives, protecting it above all else. But I ask again: how much blood?"

The gray winged angel looked down again, watching as the waves broke across the stone in a futile attempt to break free of their appointed duty. "Is it not enough to relinquish our honor to serve Michael, rather than our true father?" Alcasan asked, turning his gaze skyward. "Is he worthy of the task he has set bestowed upon himself?"

"Simply because Isaac questioned our faith, and overcame the fear you have put before us, he is to be killed? If this is consequential to a meager term of faith, then it is my destiny to die as well," he said, his sensitive ears picking up the flutter of wings behind him. Without even turning around he recognized the feel of an executioner class angel's grace.

"This is the price we pay for the completion of god's word, and I am amongst that payment," he said softly, his sharp ears perceiving the sound of angel blades sliding into the hands of the executioners.

He looked out at the sea again, the sunset reflecting in his dark eyes. "But they will not have my blood today," he said, and faded from existence as the executioners charged forward. They stopped and looked around, confused as to where the Siam Dot had vanished to. A short distance away, a tall rock jutted out of the ground, and at the peak of it Alcasan faded back into existence. The three executioners looked at him and readied their weapons.

"But I will gladly take yours."

Suddenly, he appeared directly before the angels. With a quick snap of his wrists, he slammed two of the executioner's blades into their own chests. The third thrust his own sword forward, only to scream in pain as his wrist was snapped and a blade was plunged into the center of his abdomen. They screamed and exploded in huge flashes of grace, the imprint of their wings burned into the ground

"And now my transgression is complete," he said solemnly.

"Look down on me, Father, for I am embarking on the path of blood!" he cried, before vanishing in a flash of grace.

From the shadows of a shady oak, God looked on sadly. "Carry on, my wayward son," he whispered, and then chuckled at his own reference. "My, my, they are starting to rub off on me." He shook his head and walked away.

Down below, the water roared and raged, crashing against the immovable wall of rock, crying out its anguish a striving to break through. The sun slowly set behind the horizon, and with a flash of green, it was gone.

And then there was silence.

* * *

**Alright, I know I said end of first year last chapter, but this idea came to me and I just had to write it. Now, there have been power fluctuations in my area, so writing has been a little hectic. Next chapter will _definitely_ end first year, so please stay tuned. Oh, and by the way, I plan to go all seven years. Wish me luck.**

**Rate and Review!- **Arudon


	14. The End of the Beginning Part 1

**A necessary chapter, and I hope you enjoy it. I'm surprised you guys didn't comment on my portrayal of heaven while all of this is going on, and I feel it necessary to further explain Alcasan's actions. Enjoy this chapter, it's a doozy!**

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The sun burst out over the horizon in a flash of golden light, chasing away the darkness with his brilliant rays and powerful heat. All across Buckingham Palace, home to the most esteemed family in the British Isles, the sun's rays filtered through stained glass windows and across the marble halls, creating a glistening rainbow effect along the walls. The Janitors and maids began their daily routine of sweeping the halls and polishing the floors. Several of the ballrooms were closed off by the palace guards and Scotland Yard officials due to the ongoing investigation of the mass killings that had occurred the previous day.

The public had not yet been made aware of the incident, and the big wigs from Scotland Yard were currently trying to keep the whole thing hushed up. God knows (oh, the irony of that statement!) what would happen if the people found out that a terrorist group had arrived and massacred almost twenty guards and operatives in what appeared to have been an attempt on the Queen's life. Add to that the two mysterious children, and you had a mystery so deep it would take Sherlock Holmes to crack it (and he was currently unavailable due to a certain high level case, much to his brother Mycroft's extreme displeasure).

The afro-mentioned sunlight streamed through the window of the main guest chambers, alighting on two figures wrapped around each other on the main bed. The two children were so entangled that if one were to try, you could not tell where one began and the other ended. But if you were a supernatural creature, you probably would have been more put off by the mismatched wings that completely enfolded the two, the black and white layers cocooning them like a secondary blanket. As the sun glinted off the wings, the reflective surface of both the deep black and pearly white feather's sent dazzling rainbows across the room, and caused the bodies the respective wings were attached to to glow with holy beauty and innocence.

A flickering eyelid slowly raised, revealing a deep golden eye that immediately squeezed shut at the invading sunlight. After a moment, the muscles around the eye slowly relaxed, and reluctantly the eyelid raised again, much slower this time, to once more reveal the glimmering golden orb. Azrael's pupils contracted as they adjusted to the sunlight, and he slowly raised his head. His eyes flew completely open as he found that he couldn't raise his head, and his body automatically began to strain. This only caused the other figure to tighten his wings, unconsciously pulling Azrael closer to him. A small grin spread across the black winged angel's face, as he realized that the child of heaven had one of his delicate white wings draped around his neck and in between his wing-plates, the white-feathered appendage coming to rest on his left wing.

Azrael turned his golden eyes to peer down at the slumbering angel wrapped around him, and his grin softened into a warm smile as he saw the perfect innocence that was Isaac. Truly, even though the child of heaven had disobeyed a direct order from Michael, gone against heaven's will, and even killed several of their misguided brothers, he had never fallen from grace or lost his innocence.

It was easy to understand why disobeying heaven and Michael had not led to him falling, as any rational thinking angel would know that the Archangel's plan was borderline crazy, and he had even left with god's blessing. And though he had killed his brother's, Isaac never stopped trying to save them from the corrupting words of the Archangel, and had only killed out of necessity. Also, killing an angel was not the same as killing a human, smiting a demon or slaying a monster. For while those things truly did lead to a loss of innocence, the infighting of the angels was more of a combat of purity, and there was never a question of innocence or purity. Isaac had done only what he had to, and thus there were no averse affects on him.

'_But what about me?'_ Azrael thought to himself, as he gazed down on his still sleeping friend. '_What about you?'_ asked Draco sleepily, the angel's soft question having woken the slumbering mage. Draco stretched his mind out, his magic copying his movements, and Azrael's grace flowed with him, mirroring the human vessel's motions. Azrael smirked as he felt the human continue his warm-up routine, having long grown accustomed to feeling the young vessel move about inside of him.

Draco was not what you could call a morning person, and ever since their joining had only displayed annoyance at the angel of death's insistence on rising with the sun. Azrael had explained that it was a ritual in heaven to sing on each sunrise, and so it was only natural for him to continue it down here on Earth. Draco had called it a load of sanctimonious porlock dung and smacked the angel at his explanation.

_'Well, are you going to answer me or not? What do you mean by,_ 'What about me,' _hmm?'_ Draco asked, poking his angel with a thread of his magic. Azrael retaliated by sending fingers of his grace along the 'underarms' of Draco's ticklish soul, sending the annoyed wizard into a laughing fit. _'Oi, stop that you bloody Wanker! Let go, I say, let go!'_ he cried as he tried to roll away from the fingers, a scowl forming on his face as he heard the black winged angel's mental laugher. _'All right, two can play at this game,'_ he said with a smirk, and with a defiant war cry, the pale haired human smacked the angel's fingers away and sent his own fingers of magic running over the angel's grace.

Azrael's bell like laughter rang out through the room, waking the other occupant with a surprised jolt. Isaac peered up at the smiling face that was inches away from his own, before a small spread across his own face. Azrael felt Draco still as he looked down at the smaller boy, and the two angels stared transfixed at each other, lost in each other's expression. Blue eyes traced over the hard yet delicate outline of his best friend's vessel, marveling at how it was so close to its' actual shape.

Isaac slowly lifted a free hand that had somehow remained free of the tangled appendages, and raised it to Azrael's face. His slender finger touched lightly on the tip of his chin, before sliding up to cup the right side of the black winged angel's face, sending shivers down the larger angel's spine. Slowly, Isaac moved his hand so that it rested near the locks of pale hair that had gone askew from their restless night, and with delicate fingers gently smoothed the hair back to its proper place.

His glowing blue eyes suddenly switched back to the deep golden ones as he felt the angel's breath hitch, and he stared deep into their golden hued depths. Those eyes held such affection, such infinite love, that it was hard to imagine that it could be contained in so small a form. Azrael, in turn, stared down into the ocean blue depths, marveling in how the white winged angel's eyes always seemed to take his breath away. Isaac's breath ghosted over his lips, and he was reminded of just how close they were to each other. Isaac shifted his hand again, caressing the soft skin of the angel's neck, before sliding the fingers down to where the met the collarbone. They squeezed a little, before making small rotations, massaging the skin there.

Azrael was just about to move when the moment was interrupted by a small cough.

Both boys sprang apart in a gut reaction, pulling at their twisted limbs in a moment of panic that only served to further entangle their already skewed limbs. The two angels had been so enthralled by each other that they had not noticed the door creak open to admit their visitor. The woman watched in amusement as her diminutive guests rolled around each other, trying to escape each other's grasping limbs, before finally giving it up as hopeless and laying their heads down in exhaustion, their positions now flipped, with the white winged angel on top and the black one on the bottom.

Both boy's shifted their eyes once again to their visitor, and two pairs of eyes widened as they beheld her majesty the Queen of England sitting calmly not three feet away from the disentangled pair and calmly sipping tea from a teacup. A soft grin spread across her face as she saw the adorable way the two stared at her with awe, both taking a moment to pick their jaws off the ground. Oh God, it had been far too long since the palace had been graced by the presence of children. She remembered when Charles had still been in the house at the two boys' age, oh those had been ripe old days! But she was drawn out of her musings as she saw the curious way the black winged angel's wing shifted, the dark feathers casting an equal amount of shadows and rainbows across the room.

"Well, now that I have your attention, I do hope you can explain exactly who you are and what you were doing here yesterday," she said as she set her teacup down on its platter and placed it on the bed stand. "Also, I would like for you to explain, if you can, why you both have wings, and why another one of your friends' tried to blow up my house yesterday," she said with an authoritative voice, her head raised proudly.

The two angels exchanged glances, before simultaneously moving so that they were both a little more equally directed towards the queen. "To answer your first question, your majety, my name is Azrael, angel of death, and my companion here is Isaac, child of heaven," the dark winged angel said before being cuffed by Isaac's free hand. "Ow!" he cried in indignation, turning to look accusingly at the smaller boy. "What was that for?" he asked.

"We're addressing the most powerful women in the British Isles and you don't even give me the courtesy of introducing myself? How thick can you get, you dumb-struck cherub!" Isaac cried, glaring at the angel of death. Azrael's frown deepened. "I am **not** a cherub," he growled dangerously, and Isaac shivered at the cold gaze that was shot his way. Both angels turned their eyes back on the Queen.

"But that's only half the introductions. Meet our vessels!" Isaac cried, and as he said this, his eyes flashed white before fading to bright emerald green. Beside him, Azrael did the same, his golden eyes flashing white before fading to pure quicksilver as he handed control back to Draco. The wings retracted, allowing the boys to finally disentangle themselves completely and sit up. Only then did they realize that, to their horror, sometime after they had fallen asleep, someone had stripped them of their clothes, and they both were clad in only their Christmas colored boxers. Harry's hand flashed to his throat, and he was relieved to find the locket he had received from Azrael was still there, the perception filters having kept it from being noticed.

Draco bowed his head, the picture of aristocratic politeness. "Draco Malfoy at you service, Ma'am, heir to the Malfoy family house. And this-" he was cut off by a sharp look from Harry, who shared his resident angel's sentimentalities concerning introductions. Harry turned his green glowing emeralds onto the women before him before a huge smile spread across his face. "I'm Harry Potter, Ma'am, vessel to the angel Isaac" he said, doing his best to imitate Draco's formality and head bow. He didn't quite pull it off though, but instead of annoying the monarch, it actually made him more endearing.

Elizabeth had to restrain the urge to pat the small child on his head, her grand-motherly instincts threatening to kick in. She was, after all, the head of the Windsor family, and someone of her stature does not go about patting strange little boys on the head, regardless of how cute or innocent they appear. An image flashed to mind of the angel standing there as a column of light, blasting apart the invaders with a heavenly light, his brilliant white wings flaring out angrily behind him.

No, you certainly shouldn't pat strange little boys on the head.

"You introduced yourself as angels, then as humans. Which are you, boy?" she demanded, but immediately softened her tone and expression when she saw how Harry visibly flinched slightly at her use of the word 'boy.' Draco reached an arm around Harry and patted him on the shoulder, giving him a small squeeze to remind the black haired boy that he was there for him. Harry recovered his composure quickly, and then sat up straighter to answer the Queen's question.

"Well, your majesty, I myself am a human being, much like you or anyone else," he said, not technically lying, but not giving the whole truth. "However, the angel inside me, Isaac, is most certainly not. You see, angel's are not meant to manifest on this world in their true form. Should they attempt to do so, the sight of their true form would disintegrate any human who even attempted to perceive them, and their voice would liquidate their ears. Their very presence would cause untold levels of damage, and most likely cause distortions in the weather.

"In order to manifest, therefore, they must do so through a human conduit, or 'vessel,' as they call it. They have to have permission to enter the human host, though, which makes them different from demons. Once they inhabit a human body, that person's soul is automatically guaranteed a spot in heaven, and their physical body is augmented a thousand fold. The angel bestows upon his vessel all his heavenly power and grace, using the human vessel as a gateway through which to act in the human realm."

Harry shifted a little, a little nervous about divulging so much information all at once. The Queen merely nodded though, before asking her next question. "That would make sense, and I honestly have no other explanation I can come up with. Plus, you being angels would explain the wings on your backs."

Harry and Draco looked at each other in shock, both astounded at what they had just heard. "You can see them?" Draco asked, the surprised tone of his voice echoing around the bedroom. "Yes," the Queen said imperiously. "Why should I not?" she asked.

"Normal humans can't see them. Only other angels, demons, and supernatural presences can perceive them. Humans, even remarkable ones such as yourself, lack the capabilities to perceive an angel's wings," Harry said as his eyes flashed white before fading to blue, his resident angel demanding that he allow him to investigate this.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow as she saw the change, and the previously limp wings suddenly came to life, flaring to full power. That was another thing she had noted: whenever the angel was in charge, the wings were much more prevalent, much more solid and real. However, when the vessel was in charge, the wings almost seemed to fade, leaving only a pale, nearly translucent impression. The angel extended his arm forward, his fingers splaying hesitantly.

"May I?" he asked, his hand hovering near her head. Before she could answer, however, the door slammed open, and a gruff looking man stomped in. He was a balding, bristle bearded man with dark, beady eyes and a firm scowl set on his face. Despite wearing a suit, it was clear that he felt uncomfortable in formal attire, as he seemed to be shifting irritatingly. "Now wait jest a minute here," the man said in a surly, North American accent. "I've followed ye're orders to wait outside, yer majes'ty; but I can't just let them do whatever they want with ye without verifying any of their facts first. I can't have-"

"Mr. Singer!" the Queen said sharply, her tone bringing the man to a halt. "I had you brought here from the United States because of your expertise in these kinds of matters, and I respect your opinion. But I have made it very clear to you that these boys are under my protection, and have my full trust. Now you have already heard everything that they have to say, and still you have doubts?!"

The Queen formed the last part of the sentence as a question, but part of her statement threw the pair. "Wait a minute," Azrael said quickly, his golden eyes quickly replacing Draco's silver in a flash of white. "Do you mean to say that you had enough time to call someone in all the way from the America's while we were still asleep? How long were we out?" he cried exasperatedly, his panic rising. The longer they were gone from Hogwarts, the likelier the chances that the teachers would discover their absence.

The Queen and Mr. Singer looked over at the two pair of angels. "Whatever ye did to save the Queen, it must have taken a lot out of ye. Ye've been asleep fer almost two days," the man answered in a gruff voice, and both angels' eyes widened. The Queen watched curiously as they both raised their wings and began to glow, an inner light beginning to shine from the center of their chests. However, the light was too dim for them to be able to do anything with it, so they eventually let their wings droop down again.

"I don't have enough to perform a grace jump," Isaac said, looking over at Azrael next to him worriedly. "Maybe baring our power all at once like that wasn't the smartest idea," Azrael replied sagely, and Isaac nodded in acknowledgement.

"What're ye two talking about?" Singer asked, looking all around confused. The Queen didn't chastise him for his interruption this time, though, indicating that she was just as confused as the hunter. Isaac took the opportunity to explain. "All angels have a power, or life source, called grace," he said, flaring his own in demonstration. "It's this that give angels their power and strength. When we wish to escape or go to a certain area, we can pool our grace into our wings, and then teleport to that area through a skilled called 'grace jumping.' However, since we used up most of our grace when we let it loose two days ago in our battle with Alcasan, our bodies fell into a coma to try to replenish it. Right now, we still don't have enough to perform a grace jump, but by the end of this day I'm sure that we will," Isaac finished, flaring his white wings for a little added drama.

The Queen nodded, but her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach out and touch those nearly effervescent wings. Isaac saw this, and gently extended one wing slowly, eyeing the Queen with a look that spoke dark promises should she attempt to damage them in any way. His body froze as he felt the fingers of her hand cascade across his wing, trailing along the edges of his feathers and setting his nerves abuzzing. He quickly retracted the appendage, nervous at the brief moment of exposure. The Queen looked almost heartbroken, but quickly regained her composure.

"I don't know why ye're battin' at empty air," Singer began, one of his bushy eyebrows rising into the air as he observed the Queen's strange movements. "But if ye're not going to let me question them, will ye at least let me test them?" he asked, holding what looked like a surgeons bag up in the air. The Queen sighed. "If you must, Mr. Singer, but know that if you hurt them, then I will have your head!" she announced imperiously as the gruff hunter moved forward to take her place at the bedside.

"If it hurts them at all, then I'll know exactly what they are and I'll have to kill them," he said with a low growl, before opening his surgeon bag up and drawing a clear container of water out and placing it on the tableside. He then grabbed two cups that were already sitting on the bedside and emptied the water into the glasses. "Drink," he ordered, thrusting the two cups towards the boys. The pair exchanged a glance before accepting the glasses and gulping down the liquid, which they now recognized to be holy water. The man raised an eyebrow when he saw no averse reactions from the pair. "So not demons," he grumbled to himself, before pulling out a mirror. Sitting forward, he looked into the mirror and angled it so that he could see the pair's reflection. However, all this revealed was that Isaac was definitely immature, as he started making funny faces at his reflection.

With a snort, the hunter put the mirror up and pulled out a silver knife. "Not wraiths or changelings. Now to see if you're weres," he mumbled, before turning fully to the pair. "Hold out your arms," he said demandingly, and the boys both did as they were told. The man took the knife and ran it across the bare forearms of each boy, and nodded as he did not get a single reaction from either of them. His eyes widened, however, when he saw a brief glow appear under the skin of both cuts before the wound sealed themselves, not even leaving a scar.

"What are you?" he asked in awe, staring at the pair before him like they were from a whole other world. Which, in a way, they were. "As we said, sir, we're angels of the lord," Isaac said, a grin spreading across his face as he saw the hunter's jaw drop. "Well I'll be damned," he mumbled to himself.

Both angel's cocked their heads at this statement, and the Queen, who was watching from a distance, had to suppress a squeal as they did so. They looked like two little puppies, with their large eyes and adorable expressions.

"I'm sorry sir, but how are you damned?" Azrael asked, his head still cocked to the side as he gazed curiously at the hunter.

"What?" the hunter asked, shocked at the sheer puzzlement behind the angel's statement.

"We can both see your soul sir, and it is quite clear," Isaac answered, cocking his head in the other direction and tugging on the old hunter's long thought dead 'cutesy girl side.'

"You have not done anything to elicit a punishment, and have lived a mostly righteous life. Unless, that is, you've made a deal with a demon. If that is the case, then yes, you are most surely damned," Isaac said this last part in a much more serious tone, and the hunter gulped and leaned back, his mind recalling the deal he had made only a few short weeks ago with a certain King of the Crossroads.

Getting up, he turned his gaze on the Queen, who stepped forward as he did so, and said, "Thanks your majesty, I think I'm done here. I'll be getting back to my partner, I'm sure he could use some help."

The Queen nodded, and with a final glance at the pair sitting on the bed, Bobby Singer, hunter extraordinaire, left the room. "Angels, huh?" he grumbled to himself, bringing a smile to Isaac's acute hearing.

The Queen stepped forward again, drawing the pair's attention once more. "Well, now that that's done with, perhaps you can get on with the part where you tell me why you were ransacking my palace on Christmas day, and why a whole contingent of angels showed up and slaughtered almost twenty of my best men," she said, looking at the angels with a meaningful gaze. Isaac nodded vigorously and scooted forward, so that his feet were hanging of the bed. The covers slipped off his frame a little, exposing more of his bare torso and sending a shiver running across his body.

"Well, actually it was Azrael's idea," Isaac began, masterfully ducking the cuff that would have hit him on the back of the head if he had not had the foresight to avoid it. "But we ended up in your palace as sort of a vacation. We didn't mean to cause very much trouble, and certainly didn't mean for things to happen the way they did. We'd just been cooped up so long it was starting to irritate both of us, and we just had to get away. As to why our brothers showed up and began to kill your people, that is solely our fault."

Isaac's white wings drooped and he began to look extremely guilty. 'One thing about these angels,' the Queen thought to herself. 'Is that it's not hard to read their emotions. Their wings almost always give them away. I guess it must come from them not supposed to be able to lie,' she thought.

Her musings were interrupted by Azrael's voice as he picked up the story. "You see, Ma'am, heaven is not what it used to be. This may come as a shock, but God is gone, disappeared somewhere to earth, and has left the Archangel Michael in charge. Heaven is in near ruins thanks to his actions, and Isaac and I had to escape. Michael sent the hunter angel, Alcasan, after us, which forced us into hiding. He must have traced our grace signature to this place while we were playing. And, well, the Siam Dot (that's Enochian for 'hunter') are not the nicest of angels. He probably would have ripped this palace apart if he didn't find us, so we had an obligation to send him away."

The Queen raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that you had an opportunity to escape, and you still returned to save the rest of the palace and my life?" she asked astonished, surprised that the angel's would be so selfless. Isaac was the one who answered this time. "Well, yes," he said hesitantly, his wings rustling behind him as if his answer should have been obvious. "Humans are god's most cherished creation. Something that most of the angels in heaven seem to have forgotten. We couldn't very well just let him tear you apart, now could we?" he asked, looking at the Queen with huge blue eyes.

The Queen couldn't restrain herself, and thrust her arms outwards, grabbing a hold of both the young angels and pulling them into a bone crushing hug. _'Merlin, she's strong!_' Isaac heard Harry cry, and Azrael heard similar complaints from Draco. Pulling back, the Queen sat beaming at the two boys. "Well, since you have performed so admirably, it is my duty as head of this realm to see that you are properly rewarded. Enjoy the rest of the day here while you recover, and feel free to use the grounds as you please." She held up a warning finger in the air. "Just try to make sure you don't leave any lasting damage. A servant will come by to collect you at dusk, so that you may receive the proper reward for performing such honorable and noble works in the protection of the realm!" she cried, before sweeping out of the room, leaving a dumbstruck pair of angels.

Isaac turned to Azrael, and Azrael turned to Isaac. They both held each other's gaze for a few moments, before bursting out into laughter.

Isaac rolled out of the bed, his white feathers flexing in good humor. "Come on," he cried. "I'll race you to the duck pond!" And with that he took off running.

"Come back, you hooligan, you're not even dressed," he heard Azrael call, but Isaac just shook his head and kept on running, too happy to be alive and free to care.

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Albus Dumbledore was not a happy man. He sat behind his desk, his cold gaze on a monitor in front of him that recorded Harry Potter's well being. It had been two days since his disappearance along with Draco Malfoy, and so far none of the staff had seen hide nor hair of either of the boys.

The headmaster had gathered every detail that he could from Severus's mind, and he still couldn't make heads or tails about the exchange that the potion's master had witnessed. "Why would they call each other by different names?" he wondered aloud, his thoughts replaying the names he had heard. "And why would Draco call Harry a fledgling? And how did they apparate inside of Hogwarts? So many questions," he mused, his blue eyes wandering over his office. "Azrael and Isaac, hmm?"

At his words, the room's other occupant perked up. The brightly colored phoenix was truly a magnificent creature to behold, with his ruby red feathers and scarlet wingtips making him appear as if he were about to catch fire. Fawkes turned his head towards the headmaster, before flapping his wings and taking off into the air. He glided a short bit before coming to rest on the old wizard's desk, his bright ruby and gold eyes peering into the headmaster's blue.

"Yes, Fawkes?" the headmaster asked the phoenix, as he stared into the bird's gorgeous eyes. "What are you trying to tell me? Do you know something about those names? Azrael and Isaac?"

Albus watched as the bird's eyes widened, before with a flap of his wings he was swooping off the desk. As he flew around the office, the bird grabbed the sorting hat from its stand on the wall, before suddenly disappearing into a flash of flame. Dumbledore coughed as he inhaled a bit of smoke. He had completely forgotten that Phoenixes could flash teleport like that, and it still caught him unawares every single time.

In actuality, Fawkes had not gone very far. He wasn't used to the teleportation trick, what with only being one hundred and six years old (young for a phoenix, who were practically immortal). He reappeared on the roof of the school, just on top of the Great Hall, and set the Sorting hat down with his claws.

Matthew looked up at the bird, confused on what its intentions were. "What is it, little one?" he asked calmly, moderating his voice so as not to scare the magnificent bird. The phoenix snorted and opened its beak, letting loose a torrent of trills and coos that the archangel was sure formed some kind of language, but was completely foreign to the bemused hat. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I can't understand you. Despite our wings, I don't think they teach bird back in heaven," Matthew said apologetically, tilting his head/body to the side as he watched the frustrated bird pace back and forth in front of him.

Finally, the phoenix seemed to come to a conclusion in his head, and turned to fully face the angel. He closed his eyes, and suddenly began to smoke and crackle all over his body. Matthew looked on in horror as the brilliant ruby and gold bird erupted into flames before him, leaving nothing but ash.

He was even more startled when the ash seemed to grow; building itself up until it was almost five feet tall. Finally, the mound stopped growing and stood still, steaming.

The ash then began to quiver and shake, and suddenly a pair of brilliant orange and red wings burst from the pile, stretching out to either side of him and shaking ash off of themselves. The rest of the ash began to fall away, revealing a sight the angel would never be able to forget.

Standing there before him, covered from head to toe in dirty ash, was a young boy of about eleven to ten human years of age. Underneath the dirt and ash, Matthew could see that his skin was a light, pleasing tan; not too dark, but not too light either. His hair shown a fiery gold, and the tips were streaked red, making it seem as if his head was on fire. His eyes were the same shade as his hair, a deep fiery gold that was the same hue as sunset. But what really caught the archangel off guards was the fact that the boy was completely nude.

The boy drew in a deep breath, as if testing his lungs, before letting the air out again. His wings rustled nervously behind him, rearranging themselves so as to rest more comfortably on his back. The boy held his hands up to his face, his eyes staring in wonder as he clenched and unclenched his fist, marveling at the way his ligaments moved. The boy ended his personal inspection after a quick check over the rest of his body, before finally turning back to the Sorting Hat, his eyes glowing like wildfire. "C…Can you un… understand me…now?" the boy asked in a soft, broken tone. His voice fluctuated melodically, like a bird's song, and he had a rich accent that made his words sound exotic.

"Fawkes?" Matthew asked incredulously, staring at the boy in sheer wonder. The boy seemed to swell up with pride at the archangel's silence. "Yes, it's me. Fawkes Flintariel, son of Arabor and Nymda, last of their bloodline, at your service," he said, his speech becoming clearer and more confident with every word he spoke. He made a quick bow to the angel before sitting down before the hat, his wings spreading a little to allow him a more comfortable position. Matthew stared in awe at the phoenix, having been wholly unaware that the bird had had such capabilities within him. He took a moment to reevaluate the boy from a closer proximity, and now that he was nearer he could definitely see the similarities between this boy and the red and scarlet magical creature he had been before.

The boy's features were delicate, with high crafted cheekbones and a slightly longish throat. He was well developed, with clearly defined muscles, but he certainly wasn't stocky by any means of the word. He could feel the heat radiating off of him in waves, and just being close warmed the angel considerably. His wings were different from an angels, he noted. They did not radiate grace like an angel's did, and were shorter and sturdier, clearly made for practical use. Instead of grace, the feathers radiated a power not unlike what you would feel if you were to somehow capture a sunrise. It was a hot power, and the hat had no doubt that the phoenix could immolate him in flames should he wish.

"How have you done this?" he asked finally, his curiosity getting the better of him. Angels had never had much experience with phoenixes, considering how rare they were, and even in all his time as a hat, he had only ever seen two other phoenixes besides Fawkes, and those had been the phoenix's parents. He had never, in all his life (as both a hat and an archangel), seen a phoenix in human form.

Fawkes' smile was like watching a sunrise. "It's a special ability few phoenixes are born with. When we reach a certain point in our lives, some of our species are capable of changing into human form," he explained, animating his speech with hand gestures in a move the archangel found strangely endearing. "They still retain all the powers of a phoenix, including teleportation and fire manipulation, but are gifted with a few special, supernatural abilities; such as being able to see monsters and demons in their true form. We can even fight with angels without fear of being smote. Well, at least it would be a challenge for them to try." As he said this, he raised an eyebrow at Matthew, as if daring him to try. The archangel leaned back in what he hoped was a disarming gesture, before asking another question. "Doesn't that make you a monster, though, like werewolves and vampires and such?" he asked.

He immediately wished he hadn't, for as soon as he said this the temperature on the rooftop rose several degrees and the phoenixes wings started to glow, almost as if they were about to catch fire. "Don't you ever compare me with those filthy creatures again!" Fawkes hissed, his eyes blazing with anger. "Phoenixes are a noble and pure race, and we have no quarrel whatsoever with humans. Our ash is one of the only things that can kill Eve, the mother of all monsters. The rest of her brood fear us, for we are ten times more powerful than they are!" he cried, flaring his ruby and gold wings as he said this.

Matthew raised one felt covered eyebrow. "Well, if you're so powerful and pure, how come there aren't more of you. Surely if you were all that, god would choose to elevate your status. And why is it that I have never seen one of your kind in human form before?" he asked, and at his words the boy before him cringed.

He turned his golden eyes on the angel after a moment, hurt evident in his eyes. "It is very hard for phoenixes to reproduce. Even if we are able to find a proper nest-mate, we can only ever hope to raise one egg. Also, because of our magical properties, we were hunted to near extinction in the middle ages by greedy lords and barons. We sought refuge with the mages, and adapted our form so as to hide amongst them. However, like I said before, some of us are born with the ability to shed our disguises and walk on two legs, just as they did in the days of old."

Fawkes got a faraway look in his eye, as if wondering what it would have been like in those times, before a cough from the hat brought him back to the present. He looked down at the ruffled archangel, and a smile re-blossomed on his face. "But I'm wasting both yours and my time with all this talk. I recognize those names the Headmaster said, and wanted to ask you about them. What are two angels, especially ones as prestigious as the angel of death and the child of heaven, doing at Hogwarts?" he asked, tilting his head to the side in a way that almost exactly mirrored Isaac's movements hundreds of miles away.

The hat shook his head back and forth. '_This may take a while,' _he thought to himself, as he shifted his grace so as to prepare himself for the long story.

* * *

Isaac stretched his iridescent wings in the evening sun, reveling in the strength of his now almost fully replenished grace. He and Azrael had been exploring the palace all day, and playing all sorts of crazy games. They tried not to cause too much damage, but they still left the ducks in the duck pond with more emotional trauma than any other aquatic fowl in that hemisphere.

He was currently lying with his back to a tree in the gardens of the palace, watching as Azrael attempted to balance a pine needled on his nose. He wasn't having very much success, though, and let out a startled yelp as it somehow shot halfway up his nose. The angel of death shot an irritated look at the white winged angel as he heard the boy laughing uproariously at the sight before him. He was about to exact proper punishment on the laughing fool when he was interrupted by a runner boy. "Pardon the intrusion, oh most honored guests, but the Queen would wish for your audience now," he said in a hesitant voice, before turning swiftly about and walking away from the pair. The two angels exchanged glances before shrugging their shoulders and following after the man.

He led them through the high arched hallways of the palace, and past the famous paintings, which had been restored after the angels' rough housing from two days ago. They passed through all of this, heading deeper into the heart of the palace, before finally halting in front of a pair of doors that had to easily be the most ornately decorated doors on earth. They were nothing when compared to the gates of Heaven, or even the gates to heaven's throne room, but still, they were impressive.

The servant raised a gloved hand and knocked four times, and it was opened from the inside. The two boys' jaws dropped as they saw what was inside.

Laid out before them was the Throne room of Buckingham Palace, the ancestral seat of power in Britain. A long red carpet led all the way down the center of the room, and on both sides of the hall were royal guards spaced evenly along the wall. The servant stepped off to the side, and both angels' eyes widened as they spied the Queen at the far end of the hall with a drawn sword. She stared regally at the two, and one of her lackeys motioned the two to approach. With cautious steps, the two angels' walked slowly down the great hall, their eyes taking in the sparkling decorum and the high roofed ceiling and crystal chandeliers.

When they reached the throne the Queen finally turned to face them. "Kneel," she said curtly, and after exchanging glances, the two boys kneeled before the Queen, their black and white wings shuffling behind their backs. The Queen raised the sword into the air and gazed upon it. "In accordance with your deeds of valor and heroism in protection of this land, it is proper for you to receive a fitting reward. Therefore, it is with great honor that I bestow this gift upon you two."

She lowered the flat of her blade onto Isaac's right shoulder. "You, young angel, have shown remarkable valor in defense of this palace, and at tremendous personal price. Thus, I dub both thee and thy vessel: Sir Isaac and Harry Potter of the realm!" she said as she tapped the flat of the blade on his other shoulder.

Then she turned to Azrael. "And you too, angel of death, have sacrificed much in defense of this land and its ruler." She tapped both his shoulders with the flat of her blade. "Thus I dub both thee and thy vessel: Sir Azrael and Sir Draco Malfoy of the realm."

She removed the blade and stepped back. "Rise, my knights, and face your Queen," she commanded, and the two stood up, looking in awe at the Queen. However, the decorum was broken when Isaac tipped his head to the side in that adorable puppy dog fashion of his, and The Queen couldn't resist dragging both angels into a hug.

"Thank you, your Majesty," Azrael whispered as both he and Isaac had the wind crushed out of them by the Queen of England. '_Azrael, did we just get knighted?'_ Draco asked his angel, the young aristocrat's mind reeling. "Yes, Draco, we did," Azrael whispered.

"We did indeed!"

* * *

**Wow, that was a lot of writing. **

**I recently re-watched season 6 episode 18 of Supernatural (Frontierland) and couldn't help think to myself "Gosh, that phoenix looks really cool. Hey, doesn't Dumbledore have a Phoenix?" And this is what spawned. I enjoy adding twists to already existing characters, and doing Fawkes would add a whole new dimension to the story in my opinion.**

**I hope you appreciate the work I'm doing for you guys, and to show how much you appreciate it, you should probably REVIEW. DO IT, RIGHT NOW! I COMMAND YOU!**

**I'm sorry, just had to do it. Next chapter will be the end of the beginning of the end. (Try saying that seven times fast!)**

**Alright, now seriously, Rate and REVIEW!- **Arudon

**P.S: Did you catch my Sherlock reference in the beginning part of this chapter? If you did, good for you! If not...WE WILL BANISH YOU TO LUCIFER'S PIT!**


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